Crazy Old Maurice
by Bride of Thranduil
Summary: What if Maurice was actually crazy? What if there was no enchanted castle with a beast? A dark AU. Gaston/Belle
1. The Inventor's Daughter

Crazy Old Maurice

Summary: What if Maurice was actually crazy? What if there was no castle in the forest with a beast? A dark AU.

A/N: I never thought I would find myself shipping Belle/Gaston until I saw the new movie. Luke Evans' Gaston had so much more depth that I actually found myself rooting for him. I'm not saying he was the best choice for Belle in the movie, but what if her circumstances had been different?

Trigger Warning: Maurice in this fic suffers from dementia. It's a terrible disease.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Chapter 1: The Inventor's Daughter

Belle slammed the door to her cottage and hurried toward the woods, leaving her father to rant and rave inside. She held a hand over the left side of her face where he had struck her and fought back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. Villaneuve was a small place. She didn't want to draw any more attention to herself than she had to. She and her father were the subjects of enough village gossip already. The last thing she wanted was to let everyone know that some of what they said was true.

Things hadn't always been like this. For most of her life, Belle's father had been a little eccentric, a little absent minded, but very kind. He read her stories and let her tinker with his machines. He let her believe she could be something more than a farmer's wife. Two years ago, she started to notice the changes in him. He started to forget things. They were only small, unimportant things at first. He missed appointments. He couldn't recall the names of casual acquaintances. When he started to forget to pay the rent and other bills, Belle began to worry. Her father may have been absent minded, but he wasn't irresponsible. He always made sure they were provided for. She started managing the finances herself, telling him that she wanted to be more useful. She could hardly tell him that she no longer trusted his judgement.

Things steadily got worse. He began to lose his temper at the slightest provocation, or no provocation at all. Maurice had always been a calm and even tempered man. Belle began to walk on eggshells in her own home. He became paranoid, convinced that anyone who called was plotting against him somehow. The two of them had never been popular in the village, but his erratic behavior insured that even those with whom they had been on relatively good terms ceased seeking their company. He began to carry on conversations with imaginary visitors and rave at invisible tormentors. Belle was at a loss for what to do. She tended him as best she could, but she couldn't watch him all the time. She still had to maintain the house and their little plot of land. She had no choice, but to leave him alone while she did laundry or went to the market.

One day she came in after feeding the chickens and found that he had started a fire in the kitchen. It shamed her to think of it in hindsight, but she had lost her temper. Perhaps she had frightened him more than she intended. She had no idea what went on inside his mind anymore. At any rate, he struck her in the face with the back of his hand. Belle fled from the house. This man wasn't her father any longer. Her father was lost.

She picked her way along the path to the forest as quickly as possible. With the old trees looming ever closer, she was finally satisfied that she was unlikely to meet anyone from town. She let her tears fall then, stopping to lean against a sturdy looking Oak and bury her face in her hands. This wasn't the life she had expected for herself. She didn't have grand plans exactly. Sometimes she dreamed about travelling to distant lands and seeing the world, but mostly she thought that she and Papa would go on indefinitely exactly as they always had. She never imagined he could lose his mind.

This was how Gaston found her some little while later. The sun was getting low on the horizon and he was coming back from a day's hunting, empty handed for once. He saw the inventor's daughter huddled near the old Oak and he motioned for LaFou to go on without him.

He approached her cautiously, but not silently. He didn't want to startle her with his presence. The thought almost made him laugh. If only he'd been able to get this close to a deer today.

"Belle?" he said her name softly, almost in a whisper.

"Hello, Gaston," she replied without looking up.

"Are you alright?"

She looked up at him then and he saw that a large purple bruise was forming on her otherwise perfect face. "Oh Gaston, I don't know what to do." The tears she had held back bravely a moment ago began to flow again in earnest.

He was shocked and a little uncomfortable with this display of vulnerability. Belle had always seemed so strong. It was one of the things he admired about her. She never seemed to need him to take care of her. Great hunter and war hero that he was, he hadn't the slightest idea what to do with a crying woman. He patted her shoulder somewhat awkwardly, "Come now, why don't we take a walk to the tavern and you can tell me all about it."

Belle nodded numbly and allowed him to guide her back toward town. Gaston belatedly thought that this wasn't necessarily a good sign. Any other woman would have been thrilled to have him escort her to the tavern, but Belle had always refused, saying that she had to take care of her father. He didn't know Belle's father particularly well, but like everyone else in the village, he had noticed an increase in the old man's odd behavior. People had generally regarded Maurice as a harmless eccentric. Now there was talk that maybe he could be dangerous. If Belle's face was any indication, Gaston thought, he certainly was.

They arrived at the tavern and Gaston got Belle seated at a quiet table in the corner with a large mug of dark ale which she peered into morosely, but otherwise left untouched. The corners of his mouth twitched. He had a feeling she might. One look at the misery etched on her features quickly sobered him.

"Why don't you tell me what happened?"

She took a shuddering breath, "My father isn't well, Gaston. He hasn't been himself for quite some time. I try to take care of him as best I can, but I can't be with him all the time. I have the house to care for and the chickens and the garden." She paused to wipe her nose on the sleeve of her shirt and winced as she came too close to the afflicted area under her left eye. "Lately, he's been much worse. He rants and raves. I can't reason with him. He says the strangest things. Some days he's convinced that we've been locked in an enchanted castle by a beast. He sees danger in the most mundane household objects. He thinks the teapot is out to kill us or the candlestick or the mantle clock. I don't know what to do. I'm at my wits' end."

Gaston nodded, unsure of what to say. He knew the villagers called her father crazy old Maurice. He'd called him that, too. He never imagined it might be the truth. "What happened today?" he asked, his tone surprisingly gentle.

Belle looked at him and realized that she'd never heard the big man speak quite so tenderly to anyone. "He set fire to kitchen while I was outside feeding the chickens. He said the stove was plotting to kill him. I lost my temper and screamed at him. He was like a frightened animal. I'm not sure he even recognized me. Anyway, he struck me and I ran out. Then you found me."

"Oh, Belle, I'm so sorry," he sighed, "What can I do to help?"

"I don't think there's much that anyone can do. Agatha gave me some herbs to soothe him, but they only make him sleep. They do nothing to rid him of his delusions."

"Would you at least let me walk you home? I can't let you go back there alone, not knowing what state he might be in."

"I go back there alone everyday, Gaston. It's just how my life is now."

"But it doesn't have to be!" he slammed his fist down on the table harder than he intended, making his drinking companion jump. His demeanor softened. He didn't want to frighten her away. "Why won't you let me help you?"

This time Belle scoffed, "Help me? Is that what you want? How can I accept help from someone who's only doing it for something in return? I don't want to marry you, Gaston, and all the help you could offer won't make me feel obligated to."

"Is that what you think? That I want to help you in some tit for tat exchange for your hand? My God, Belle, what have I done to make you think so meanly of me? I want to help you because I can't stand to see you in pain. It's what we do for the people we care about. Say whatever else you like about me, but I'm a loyal friend. Ask LeFou. He'll tell you."

"What happened to make the two of you so close?" she asked timidly. "It's just that you seem to make such an odd pair."

Gaston waived away her concern, "I suppose it looks that way at first. LeFou was with me during the war. We saw some truly terrible things and did some that were even worse. There were times when I felt like I'd lost sight of who I was. He was always there to pull me back to myself, to remind me that I was Gaston from Villenueve. I can never repay him for that." He reached across the table and took her hand, "Let me be your friend, Belle. Let me prove to you that I'm more than some silly peacock who cuts a fine figure in a red coat. Let me help you."

Grudgingly, she nodded and agreed to let him walk her home. They said little on the walk. She had so many things spinning around in her head. Was it possible that she had misjudged him? Or was there something in him that she simply didn't see before?

Gaston entered Belle's cottage first. "Maurice?" he called, quietly at first and then louder, "Maurice!" Eventually they found him, curled up under his workbench, asleep. Belle would have brought a blanket and let him sleep where he lay, but Gaston lifted him easily as if he were a child and carried upstairs to his bed. Belle wondered if he would carry his own children off to bed in exactly the same manner. Then she wondered why she would think such a thing. Gaston's children were certainly no concern of hers.

He returned a moment later and wished her a goodnight. He opened the door to see himself out when she called him back. He turned, and before she could think herself out of it, Belle raised herself up on her tiptoes and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. It was over before it began and Gaston found himself walking the path back to the village alone, wondering what had just happened. "The inventor's daughter just kissed me," he said to the empty night, "She kissed me!"


	2. The Farmer's Son

A/N: Thanks to everyone who favorited and followed this story! Many thanks to Kreeblim Sabs for inspiring me to write it. Her Belle/Gaston AU _Faded Fantasy_ got me thinking. Special thanks to TrudiRose for pointing out that Gaston and Belle could potentially bond over wanting much more than this provincial life. I'll keep that in mind for future chapters. Enjoy!

Summary: Belle and Gaston's relationship progresses

Chapter 2: The Farmer's Son

It was three days before Gaston saw Belle again. He suspected that either her father's illness kept her at home or she was avoiding him. He wasn't sure which one was worse. When he finally did see her again he noted that the bruise on her left cheek was fading, but not gone.

"Hello, Gaston," she said shyly. This is new, he thought. She's never acted shy around me before. "I want to apologize for the other day."

"Why would you do that?"

"I'm afraid I made rather a fool of myself."

"There's nothing to apologize for. I was glad to be of service." There was an awkward pause where he looked at her kindly and she tried not to blush. "How is your father?" he asked at length.

She shrugged, "He's manageable today. I imagine he's worn himself out."

"Before I forget, I have something for you."

"No more wildflowers, please."

"No, something a little less flashy and a little more to your taste I hope."

Belle crinkled her nose in surprise when he reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a volume of Moliere. "Where did you find this?"

"I was sorting through some of my father's things and I came across it. He was a literary man. He preferred French authors to foreign ones though. I know he liked Moliere a good deal better than that English fellow."

"Shakespeare?"

"That's the one. I think Moliere's plays have more dirty jokes, which explains his attraction."

"Gaston?"

"Yes?"

"How did you know it was Moliere?"

"It says so on the jacket."

"Yes, but…"

"Oh! I can read you know, Belle. I'm not a great lover of books, but I do read and write for practical purposes. I maintain a correspondence with my sister, Giselle, in Marseille and I know enough about bookkeeping to manage the accounts for the farm. My father was meticulous about his record keeping. He would be ashamed if I ran all his hard work into the ground after he died. He made sure I was educated enough to manage things properly. He always said that hiring someone to do what you can't do yourself is like inviting them to cheat you. I quite agree."

"I'd forgotten about your sister in Marseille. She married a wine merchant, did she?"

"Oh yes, Francois. He's a nice enough fellow, but he's terribly boring. She fell head over heels for him though. I never understood why."

"How is she enjoying city life?"

"I think it agrees with her."

"I was born in Paris, but I was too young when we left to remember it. I wonder what it's like."

"Dirty and crowded, I imagine, as cities are. You romanticize them."

"I suppose I do. Have you ever been to Paris?"

"Yes, my father took me several times. That was where I first saw Moliere."

"You've actually seen his plays performed?"

"Indeed. I find it infinitely preferable to reading them. It's how they were meant to be enjoyed, you know, on stage. Reading them never gives me the same satisfaction."

"Which one is your favorite?"

" _The Imaginary Invalid_ has always been my favorite. It's the one I saw with my father. Perhaps that's why I like it so much. No doubt you'll say that you prefer his more controversial work."

"Not at all. _The Imaginary Invalid_ is quite funny. And thank you. It's a wonderful gift."

"Think nothing of it. My father would be glad it's going to someone who can appreciate it. I don't know anyone in this village who's as fond of reading as you."

He turned to leave, but stopped at the sound of her voice, "What would you have done after the war, Gaston, if you hadn't come back to help your father with the farm?"

He scratched his chin thoughtfully, "I'm not sure. I suppose I might have stayed in the army. A soldier's life suited me. Just follow orders and they make sure you get three square meals a day and regular pay. There's a sense of comradery, too, among soldiers. It's easier than being a civilian in some ways."

"Do you mean that you had more companionship in the army than you do here? How can that be? You're the toast of the town, our local hero."

He looked at her again and she's wasn't sure what emotion she saw behind his eyes. "I'm not the man I was twenty years ago. You're too young to remember that time, and I'm glad. I'm not saying I wouldn't do what I did to protect Villaneuve again. I'm saying I hope I wouldn't have to."

Belle felt a blush creeping back into her cheeks, "I only meant that the whole town adores you. Men want to be you and women want to… nevermind. What about the Dupont sisters? They're always making eyes at you."

"Those three silly girls? Is that what you think I want, Belle? Someone to chase me around and try to tempt me with rouged cheeks and fluttering eyelashes? Have you ever seen me give them any encouragement? Have you ever seen me indicate that I appreciate that kind of behavior?"

"Well, no, but"-

"But, what? I know you think I'm boorish and brainless, but have you stopped and wondered if you really know me at all?"

Belle stuck out her chin defiantly, "I know you want someone to rub your feet in front of the fire after you've been hunting and she's been taking care of the children."

"What's wrong with that? Marriage is a partnership. It's a division of labor. I'd support my wife in her duties and her pursuits of happiness and I hope she'd support me in mine. I like hunting. It's a hobby. I wouldn't stop my wife from reading as long as it didn't interfere with helping me run the farm. I mean… if she liked to read… as a hobby…for example. I think husbands and wives should take an interest in each other's work and that they should be free to do what interests them when they're not working. And I give as good as I get when it comes to foot rubs."

"Is that your objective opinion?"

"I'll let you be the judge of that one day. Goodnight." He turned and fled.

What are you doing? The voice inside his head asked. Are you trying to get her to hate you? I'm trying to get her to know me, he argued. Once she knows the real me if she doesn't like it, then it's her loss.

Belle watched his retreating form and wasn't sure what to think. Did she know him at all? She knew what everyone knew about Gaston, but she was beginning to suspect that there might be more to him than meets the eye.


	3. New and a Bit Alarming

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Summary: As Maurice's behavior turns increasingly violent, Belle turns to Gaston for help.

A/N: A big thank you to Kreeblim Sabs for making a custom cover art for this story! Check it out on her tumblr! I also want to thank my guest reviewers and sergiojohnson33. This next chapter is for you guys! Be warned though, it's a cliffhanger.

Chapter 3: New and a Bit Alarming

It was the middle of the night when Gaston heard the pounding on his front door. He thought he was dreaming, but then he heard again. He couldn't imagine who would be knocking at this hour. The clock on the mantle read just after midnight. He disliked being awakened at such an odd time and was about to let whoever was knocking know it, when he saw it was Belle and his resolve faltered.

"I'm sorry to bother you at such an unseemly hour," she said, "but I didn't know who else to ask."

He stepped aside, glancing around to make sure that none of his neighbors had candles burning in their windows. A single witness to this midnight visit would ruin Belle's reputation forever. He gestured for her to come inside. Gaston tried to sort through his emotions. He felt love, he was certain of that. He'd been in love with her for quite some time. There was desire, too. She was very beautiful, but there was also something else. Belatedly, he realized it was pity. He felt terrible that she was saddled with the burden of caring for her father by herself. As an only child, she was alone in this task.

Gaston lit the candles in a large candelabra he kept on the mantle by the fireplace. Normally it was decorative, but it provided enough light for him to get a better look at his midnight visitor. She had obviously made her way here in haste, but it seemed odd that she kept the hood of her cloak pulled up in June. He half expected her to push his hand away when he went to pull it down, but she offered no resistance. He sucked in his breath when he saw her face. Pieces of a white handkerchief staunched the blood flow from her nose. It looked like it might be broken. One side of her lip was swollen and bore a long vertical gash, as if someone had struck her while wearing a ring. It didn't matter to him that Maurice was out of his mind. He wanted to kill him.

Belle eyes were rimmed with red and there was a hysterical edge in her voice, "He won't take Agatha's medicine anymore, so it's hard for me to sleep. He gets up in the middle of the night and wanders the house. He says he's searching for a way to break the curse we're under. I tried to coax him back to bed and he turned on me. He said that I was working for evil enchantress and I had to be stopped. My father isn't a young man, but he's still strong. I'm lucky I got away. I don't know how I'm going to go back."

"You can't do it alone," Gaston said, putting his hands on Belle's shoulders in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. "Your father needs help, Belle, more help than one person can reasonably provide. You need to think about what's best for him and for you."

Belle shook her head, "I can't put him in an asylum. Have you seen what those places are like? I could never do that to him."

"What about what he's doing to you? You said yourself that he's stronger than you are. What happens the next time he gets it into his head that the foot stool or the coat rack is trying to kill him and you're in league with them? What happens if the next time you can't away? Is letting your father end his days in comfort worth your life? He could kill you!" Belle's unrestrained weeping made him regret raising his voice, "I'm sorry. I can't stand to see you in pain. Let's get you cleaned up and I'll do whatever I can to help." Not that I have any idea what that might be, he thought.

He brought basin filled with water and gently washed the blood from her face. There was little more he could do. She needed to see the doctor about her nose. He waited for her to offer him instructions. When she didn't he said, "I'll just get my cloak and we'll be on our way back to your cottage. Surely, between the two of us we can force him to take the medicine and sleep for a while." She nodded mutely and he went to fetch his cloak. When he got back he found her sound asleep on the sofa next to the fireplace. He realized how exhausted she must be. How many nights has she gone without sleep like this? He briefly considered waking her, but decided against it. He'd leave a note in case she woke before he returned. I knew writing would come in handy someday, he thought smugly.

Gaston's penmanship wasn't anything remarkable, but it got the job done.

 _Belle,_

 _I've gone to see about your father. Please don't trouble yourself. I think you've done more than your share for one night. I'll inform you of his condition when I return. Please wait for me. If you must leave, take care that no one should see you. I say this for your benefit, not my own. It's a small village and one witness to you leaving my house before dawn could ruin you. There would certainly be talk on my side, but a man's reputation may recover._

 _Take Care,_

 _Gaston_

Belle awoke several hours later to the full light of the day streaming into Gaston's parlor and the sound of birds singing their morning songs. She wondered how long she'd been asleep and what had brought her to this unfamiliar room with the soft sofa. She sat up with a jolt. Her father had been in a terrible state last night and she'd been unable to subdue him. She was about to grab her cloak and head straight for home when she saw the note. An instant after she finished reading it, Gaston bustled into the room carrying plates filled eggs, bacon, and toast.

"Good morning, Belle," he said when he saw that she was awake. "You seemed spent last night and I didn't want to wake you. You're father's alright. LeFou's with him now. I apologize for divulging his condition to a third party, but I get testy when I haven't eaten, so I thought it was prudent to let someone else take over for a while. I also wanted to see how you were. Is there anything you need?"

She shook her head, dumbstruck. "You can cook?"

He glanced down at the plates still in his hands, "Ah yes, well, bacon and eggs isn't really a very complicated meal. I'm a bachelor. I can't eat all my meals at the tavern, so yes, I can cook a few things. Will you follow me into the dining room?"

She set upon the meal with vigor and Gaston was glad he'd gone to the trouble of making it. They had nearly cleaned their plates when she asked, "How was my father?"

He'd been dreading the question. "He was agitated. You're right, he's surprisingly strong for his age, which I suppose is a blessing, current circumstances excluded. It was difficult, but I managed to convince him to take the medicine you procured from Agatha. He fell asleep soon after."

"You convinced him?"

"That might not be the most accurate way to describe it."

"Did you force him?"

Gaston thought about the way he had held the old man's nose closed until he had to breathe through his mouth and poured in the herbal remedy. He shouldn't lie to her. "That's one way of putting it."

Her body seemed to deflate and she suddenly looked young and frail. "Thank you, Gaston. I couldn't bear to do it myself, but I know that's the best thing for him when he gets wild. He's a danger to himself as well as others."

Gaston was enormously relieved. He'd been sure she'd think he was a monster. He noticed that in addition to the obvious abrasions to her face, she was holding her right side with her left hand.

"Did he hit you in the ribs?" he asked without preamble. If she was injured, he wasn't going to beat around the bush about it.

She blushed a deep shade of scarlet and admitted, "He swung a tea kettle at me."

"My God. You do need to see a doctor."

"I'm alright."

"You don't look alright. Your ribs could be broken, you know. They could have punctured a lung and you could be bleeding to death internally right now."

"I hardly think that's likely, do you?"

"I don't know. That's why you need to see the doctor."

"Dr. Chevelier frightens me. He has since I was a child. I won't go to see him."

Gaston was exasperated. He was at the end of his rope with this girl. "Why do you refuse to let anyone help you, damn it? There are people who could help you, who would, but you won't allow it. I hope you're happy with your stubborn pride the next time your father leaves you bleeding on the floor."

She hardly knew what to say. She hadn't expected such an emotional outburst from him. "You can examine my ribs, if you like. I expect you saw your share of injuries during the war. Could you tell if anything was broken?"

"I expect that I could, but are you certain this is something you're comfortable with? Why would you let me do it and not someone trained in medicine?


	4. Here's Where She Meets Prince Charming

A/N: Thanks very much to everyone who's following this story: Shrenae, bhalesfb, flyer813

Summary: Gaston and Belle get to know each other better.

Chapter 4: Here's Where She Meets Prince Charming

"I told you, Dr. Chevelier has frightened me since I was a child. His hands are always so cold and he never smiles. His cure for everything is bloodletting and that seems to make everyone worse."

"I never thought I'd see the day when you were afraid of anything, Belle, certainly not a country doctor."

"Can we simply say that I don't trust his medical opinion and leave it at that?"

"But you trust mine?"

"I trust you."

This admission blew him away. He was suddenly very aware of how close she was standing to him and how her hair smelled like freshly cut grass and how much he wanted her. "This is a very bad idea," he whispered.

"Why? Don't you want to help me?" she asked innocently, and he had a funny feeling she knew exactly what she was doing to him. He wasn't a man who played the fool.

"Get your cloak," he snapped. "LeFou can check your ribs when I return you to your father's house."

Belle took his hand placatingly, "I was only joking, Gaston. I know you want to help me and I know that you're trying to protect my modesty. You're a strange kind of gentleman in your own way."

Gaston gave her a mock bow and said, "I'm sure my mother would have approved of that assessment. Well, maybe not the strange part. Let's be off. We've left LeFou with Maurice long enough."

Belle seated herself behind Gaston on Andre, his old stallion with some difficulty. Her ribs were extremely painful, but she refused to believe they were broken. Even if they were, what could she do? It wasn't as if she could take time off from her daily chores.

"I'm surprised you don't have a younger horse," she told him.

"I have a younger one as well. I like to reach to my prey swiftly when I go shooting, but Andre's a good steady fellow. He's been part of my family for a long time. LeFou says I should put him out of his misery, but I don't think he's miserable. I think he's enjoying retirement after many years of loyal service. If I thought he was in pain, I'd put him down, of course. I don't believe in making animals suffer because their masters don't have the courage to do what needs to be done."

"Is that what you think about my father? That I lack the courage to do what needs to be done?"

"People are more complicated than horses, I'm afraid. I know you're trying to do right by your father. When my father was ill, Giselle and I battled over how to take care of him."

"What did you disagree on?"

"She wanted to hire a nurse, someone who was trained to take care of the elderly. She felt that someone like that would be able to give him the best care. I wanted her to come back from Marseille and spend some time with him herself."

"What did you decide on?"

"In the end, I forbade her from sending the nurse, but she didn't come to stay with us until the very end. I cared for him myself, mostly. LeFou helped. He's practically part of the family anyway. My father used to say that no brother by blood would have been more loyal to me than LeFou. I think that's true."

"Did anyone ever make fun of LeFou when he was younger? You have to admit his behavior can be a bit odd."

Gaston laughed, "You mean flamboyant?"

Belle blushed, "I didn't mean to imply anything unnatural."

Gaston dismissed her embarrassment, "You're quite right, of course. I've known about LeFou's… preferences since we children. The answer is that people don't make fun of him because he's my friend. I've made it clear that anyone who makes fun of him is making fun of me. I absolutely will not tolerate mockery."

"Is that really all it takes for them to accept someone? One endorsement from Gaston and you're part of the crowd?"

"In your case, my dear, it would depend on the nature of the endorsement and whether everyone was invited to witness it at church."

"Gaston, please," she sounded genuinely distressed.

"I know, I know. You're not ready to be married. And you don't think that we could make each other happy. And you want to go and see the world before you settle down. Have I forgotten anything?"

"No, I think you covered everything."

"I think you're forgetting something important in that equation, Belle."

"What might that be?"

"You could always see the world after you're married. I mean, if your husband was amenable to that and had the means."

"Is that what you would want?"

"I think seeing the world with my wife would be infinitely preferable to seeing it alone, and I have the funds. You know my farm is prosperous. I sell the wheat I grow here in town, but I take the rest to the county market. You've been there before, haven't you? It's where your father sells those trinkets he makes."

"His music boxes? Yes, I've been there with him many times. Sadly, I think those days are behind us now."

They arrived at Belle's house to find it quiet and peaceful. LeFou met them at the door with a finger to his lips. "Your father's still resting," he informed Belle quietly. "Things have been calm since I took over for Gaston last night."

"Thank you, LeFou. I can't tell you how grateful I am."

"It was no trouble, really. Gaston did all the heavy lifting last night. He was calm by the time I got here. And discretion is my middle name, so you don't have to worry on that score."

"Was he very difficult for you last night, Gaston?"

Gaston rolled up his shirt sleeves to reveal an ugly bruise in the shape of a hand on one arm and three long scratches on the other.

Belle gasped. Her father had never hurt anyone besides her before. "I'm so sorry! I know that he can be violent."

Gaston waived away her concern, "I'm a formidable man, Belle, but he would have broken your arm," he indicated the handprint on his forearm. "Since he's calm for the moment, this is probably an optimal time to discuss a more permanent solution to the problem."

Belle rubbed her face with her hands, "I wish I felt like there was a solution."

"I know you think that asylums are terrible places, but what if we could find somewhere he would be looked after properly? Where his every need could be attended to by people who were trained to do exactly that?"

"Do places like that really exist? It sounds like a fairy tale."

"I'll write to my sister in Marseille. She has a wide circle of acquaintances there. She may know someone who can help."

"Thank you. I don't know what my father and I would do without your help."

LeFou chose this moment to interject, "Your father would probably go right on being crazy."

Gaston shot him a pointed look, but Belle laughed, "Yes, I suppose he would." She moved to show them out.

"Before we go, I really must insist that LeFou takes a look at your ribs. You could be seriously injured."

LeFou shot his friend a baleful glance that asked, why are you doing this to me?

Belle agreed and the two of them retired to another room for the examination.

"Bruised, not broken," was LeFou's assessment when he emerged a few minutes later, wringing his hands and looking disturbed. He informed his friend, "I'm going to wait outside with Andre."

Belle emerged a minute later laughing. "I'm sorry if I upset him. Honestly, I had no idea looking at a woman's torso would be so distressing."

"It was probably distressing for him in a different way than it would have been for me," he said, "although I think you may have rather enjoyed watching my distress."

"Is that what I would have witnessed?"

"Believe me, my distress would have caused you distress," he said moving to close the gap between them.

"Are we still talking about dis"- Gaston cut her off by covering her mouth with his. It had been a long night and her proximity was driving him to distraction. Having her arms wrapped around him and her body pressed against his on the back of the horse had been maddening. The prospect of seeing her in a state of undress even more so. He was at his limit for chivalry today.

This was very different from the chaste kiss she'd placed on his cheek before. This was hungry and demanding. Belle responded in kind. She'd spent so many nights enumerating all the reasons he was wrong for her in her mind, but when he was this close she couldn't recall a single one. He wrapped her in a tight embrace and she realized that for the first time since her father's illness had gotten out of control, she felt safe.

"Belle? Belle, where are you?" a voice called from another room.

She tore herself away from Gaston, "I'm coming, Papa. I'll be right there."


	5. Something Sweet and Almost Kind

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Disney.

Summary: Gaston and Belle have a talk.

A/N: Thanks so much to all my readers! I'd like to give a special shout out to TrudiRose. I read her story _Picture This_ after I started writing this and I was amazed at how many parallels there were even though that story was posted a long time ago and based on the animated version. I'd also like to thank MostEvilIceQueen and Calebski for their feedback. You guys are awesome!

Chapter 5: Something Sweet and Almost Kind

The next time Gaston saw Belle again, it was several days later and she was in trouble again. A group of villagers had taken offence to her teaching a little girl to read and had dumped her laundry out on the ground. Gaston gave her a sympathetic look as he helped her gather up the garments.

"I know what you're going to say," she huffed, "so you don't need to say it. You're going to say that the people of this village will never agree to the kind of change I'm trying to implement. Fine. Message received."

"Actually, I was going to say that the schoolmaster never liked me either. He's a mean bastard."

She giggled, "Gaston, such inappropriate language."

"Well he is," he said, taking her giggles as encouragement, "and Madame Clothilde is a bitter old shrew."

She signed, "It's easy to point the finger at others when they're unkind, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you've been very good to help me with my father and I haven't always been as nice to you as I should have."

"You've been very cordial lately. You haven't made an excuse to run away from me in at least a week."

"Did I do that often before?"

"Before you realized what a diamond-in-the-rough I am? It was a pretty regular occurrence, but don't worry. I never let a woman's dislike of me stop me from courting her."

"Honestly, Gaston, you are incorrigible."

"Only when I have the right encouragement. Yes, that was a play on words that sounded similar. I can make language jokes!"

"At any rate, I want to make sure you know how truly grateful I am for helping me with my father. I got Agatha to mix me a stronger round of herbs and he seems more subdued. I know that's only a temporary solution. Have you heard back from your sister?"

"As a matter of fact, I did. That's what I came here to tell you. She says she knows of someone, a friend of a friend, who runs a convalescent home in an old chateau. Supposedly it's the very best care money can buy for those with diseases of the mind. They help what patients they can to recover their faculties and those who can't be helped are cared for comfortably. It's several leagues away from here, but I could take you to see it if you think Maurice might benefit from their care."

"That's very sweet of you, Gaston, but surely a place like that is expensive? We could never afford it."

"Apparently, the fellow who owns it is a Count or a Duke or something and he doesn't expect everyone to pay. He takes money if people can afford it, but he runs it as a sort of charity. My sister says that the man's father killed himself in a fit of madness years ago, and ever since he's devoted himself to helping those afflicted with mental diseases."

"How interesting."

"Isn't it? Would you at least let me take you to see it before you decide that it's a terrible place and you couldn't possibly send your father there? LeFou could come with us as a chaperone."

"Very well, I accept."

"Excellent. I'll make the arrangements. Now that that's settled, there is something you could do for me if you really want to repay my help these last few days."

"Oh?"

"Show me how you did your laundry just now. It looks a good deal easier than washing everything by hand."

"Why would you need an easier way to do laundry?"

"I believe we've touched on this before, Belle. I'm a bachelor. I do my own cooking, cleaning, and yes, my own laundry."

"I've never seen you at the washing well."

"That's because I go when no one else is around. I can't stand all the giggling and whispering. It's humiliating. I don't have any female relatives here in Villanueve. I suppose I could employ a washer woman, but it seems like a silly way to spend my coin. It's not as if it's that difficult."

"When do you do it?"

"What?"

"Your laundry. You said you do it when no one else is around. When do you do it?"

"At night."

"You sneak into town under the cover of darkness to do laundry?"

"Honestly, it's not as clandestine as you make it sound. The square is generally empty after dark. I take advantage of that fact to do something that's necessary, but nevertheless awkward for me."

"You are full of surprises."

"Only for those who don't know me as well as they think they do. So are you going to show me?" And she did.

A short time later they were walking back to Belle's cottage. Gaston's palm was resting on the small of Belle's back and she was leaning into him.

"I'm not saying girls shouldn't learn to read. I'm saying it should be up to their parents to decide if they think that's appropriate."

"Why wouldn't it be appropriate?"

"It doesn't matter. The point I was making is that it's not as if you checked with Gabrielle's mother before you offered to teach her."

"I assumed she would be appreciative that I was teaching her daughter a new skill."

"What if you assumed wrong? You don't Gabrielle or her family, do you?"

"No."

"There's something to be said for paying attention to what's happening with your neighbors. I know that you abhor gossip and that's not what I mean. I'm talking about taking your head out of those books long enough to take an interest in people's lives. Gabrielle's mother took a job as a housemaid to a wealthy family a day or two's journey from here. She was gone less than a year before she came back to Villenueve pregnant with no husband. Gabrielle has no father and the village children don't often let her forget it."

"That's terrible."

"It is, but children can be cruel and so can adults. My point is that maybe Gabrielle's mother feels that she's different enough already and wouldn't have appreciated you using her daughter as an experiment."

"I wasn't experimenting. I just wanted to teach her something."

"If you weren't sure how it was going to turn out, then it was experiment. Why don't you become a teacher, Belle?"

"What?"

"There are schools for girls. Maybe not here, but in other towns and cities. There are families who pay for their daughters to be educated by governesses. Why didn't you leave here to become one before your father took ill?"

"I suppose that kind of life didn't sound very exciting. I didn't see the point in travelling far away just to do something ordinary."

"Would you have it was ordinary? You said you wanted to teach her. Do you really like teaching, or was teaching a little girl an excuse for making a friend?"

Belle thought about it. "I don't know. Maybe both?"

"Fair enough. I won't belabor the point." Bell stared at him. "Oh, yes, I just said belabor. Let's call in the militia."

She snickered, "Sorry. I'm just surprised with your vocabulary. If you know so many words, why don't you ever use them in conversation?"

"What's the point? If I can say what I mean using simple words, why should I use complicated ones? Everyone understands me. I never need to explain myself. There's something to be said for universal appeal."

"Yes, I suppose there is."


	6. Coarse and Unrefined

Disclaimer: Still not mine.

Summary: Belle, Gaston and LeFou travel to see a potential new home for Maurice.

A/N: I'm not exactly sure where this fic is going. I want to introduce Gaston's sister, Giselle, but I don't know exactly what her function should be. Does their relationship help humanize Gaston in Belle's eyes? I feel like his relationship with LeFou kind of already does that. Do I turn her into an antagonist because she doesn't think Belle is good enough for Gaston? Does the beast/prince make an appearance in the form of the count running the sanatorium? What happens from this point forward? If anyone has any ideas, please leave me a review or PM me. Also, I'm looking for a beta if anyone is interested. I update frequently, so I'm ideally looking for someone who could review my chapters the same day I send them.

Chapter 6: Coarse and Unrefined

The three of them departed for the Chateau du Isole early in the morning with grey clouds hanging overhead. It didn't look like a promising start for a journey, but by midday the clouds had evaporated and the weather had turned mildly pleasant. Belle and Gaston rode Andre, the old stallion, while LeFou rode Fury, the ebony mare Gaston normally reserved for chasing game. LeFou didn't mention it, but it was a pleasant change to get away from Andre. They spent far too much time together and he sometimes wondered if he old horse secretly had it in for him.

They had been travelling for the better of a day on a remote forest path when the howl of wolves could be heard in the distance. Belle shivered, "I didn't realize there were wolves in this part of the forest," she said.

Gaston shrugged, "there are wolves in most places that are far enough away from towns. Don't worry. They usually avoid humans and this time of year there's plenty of easier prey for them. They have no reason to bother us."

"Maybe it's time to stop at the nearest inn? It's getting late," LeFou suggested.

"You're probably right. We've covered about as much ground as can be expected in one day. We should reach the Chateau tomorrow evening. I've asked my sister and brother-in-law to meet us after we've finished our tour. I hope that's alright, Belle. The Chateau is almost exactly between here and Marseille and it seemed like poor manners not to contact them."

"Not at all," Belle replied. "I'd like to thank your sister in person for finding this place for my father. Even if it doesn't work out, I appreciate the effort she made for someone she hardly knows."

"You'll get a chance to tell her in person."

After a bowl of stew and a tankard of ale, Belle was feeling pleasantly drowsy. She was about to drop off to sleep at the table she shared with LeFou and Gaston when LeFou began to reiterate one of Gaston's war stories. Belle never paid attention to things like that at home, but here she found herself listening attentively. LeFou described in detail how a band of Portuguese soldiers had marched into Villanueve and proceeded to ransack the shops and take anything of value. The men of fighting age had all gone to fight in France's latest war and the village had essentially been left defenseless. Gaston, only sixteen at the time, had managed to round up a few local youths to drive the scoundrels off.

"We didn't even all have guns," LeFou recalled, "Most of us had pitchforks or sheep shears. That was how formidable we were. You would think trained soldiers would have laughed at us. We waited until it was dark, so they couldn't see how terrified we were. Then we marched into town and demanded that they leave. There was this one big bloke who seemed to be in charge. He said that they weren't leaving, so Gaston"-

Gaston cut him off, "Don't make this out to be more glamorous than it is."

"He challenged him to an arm wrestling match," LeFou struggled to control himself.

Belle laughed incredulously, "You can't be serious."

Gaston cut in, "I'm completely serious. I was a wiry lad at sixteen, but I was used to farm labor. This fellow was big, but he looked like he was a nobleman's son. Life for him was all amusement and court affairs. It was hardly a contest at all."

"That's how you saved the town? With an arm wrestling match?"

"Fighting is all about bringing people together, but if you can bring them together and then not fight, then so much the better."

"Papa will never believe this when I tell him."

"I still have nightmares about it actually. What if that bloke had been stronger than he looked and I had lost? What if I had led every remaining young man and some of the boys in our village to their deaths? It could have happened. Those lads were my responsibility. I joined up with the military right after that. I figured if I was going to risk my life fighting, I ought to do it with men who knew what they were doing."

"Gaston, you are just full of surprises."

The trio made their way upstairs and Belle removed the layers of her dress down to her chemise before she climbed into bed. She was about to drift off to sleep when she heard the familiar strains of one of her father's music boxes. At first, she wondered if she was dreaming. Lately, she had come to dread the sound of that music box. It meant that somewhere in the house her father was awake and she had no idea what he was doing. She didn't feel that way now though. Instead, she felt the familiar sense of calm that had accompanied listening to the melody as a child, when she thought her papa was the best music box maker in the world.

Belle sat up. She wasn't dreaming. She was awake and she could still hear the music. Where was it coming from? Slowly, careful not to make a sound lest she disturb the errant music maker, she made her way across the room and out into the hall. It sounded like the music was coming from the room directly adjacent to hers. Afraid the music might stop if she disrupted it with a knock, she slowly turned the handle and pushed the old Oak door into the next room. What she saw was shocking. Gaston sat at a small table in the center of the room winding one of her father's music boxes with a small key as it rotated and played its lilting melody.

He looked up and Belle saw that there were tears in his eyes. "Forgive me," he said, "I had no thought of disturbing you. I wanted to show the doctors at the sanatorium what your father was capable of before he lost his faculties. He was a brilliant craftsman."

"Where did you get this?"

"I bought it at the county market."

"Papa didn't go to the county market this year. He was too ill."

"No, I bought it last year."

"This isn't last year's design. He makes subtle changes to each generation of music box."

"Alright, so it's from a few years ago."

"Why would you buy something like this? What use would y _ou_ have for a music box?"

"Am I not as entitled to enjoy a pretty tune as anyone else? Do my interests in hunting and farming exclude me from enjoying the finer things in life? Next you will say that I cannot enjoy my sister's piano playing because I like riding horses or that I cannot find a game of chess amusing because I appreciate a bawdy song at the tavern. For a girl who claims to want to see the world, your thinking is awfully provincial."

Belle didn't know if it stung more that he had just called her a girl or that he thought she was small minded. Perhaps he's right, she thought. Maybe I have been a silly little girl, thinking I understood the world because of my books. Maybe I've been so busy day dreaming that I haven't really paid attention to the people in my life. "I'm sorry for barging in uninvited. I was only trying to locate the source of the music. Now that I have I'll go back to bed." She left as suddenly as she had arrived.

Gaston closed the box and put his head in his hands. He didn't know what else he could do to make her see him as a gentleman. He had no idea if seeing the music box would help or hurt his cause. At any rate, he felt like a naughty child who had just been caught with a hand in the cookie jar. The truth was that he listened to it on lonely nights when he couldn't get the thoughts of her out of his mind. He would listen to the song and wonder if she was listening to the same thing across town. "I'm just fooling myself," he whispered to the empty room, "She'll never see me as anything but a monster."

Belle shivered under the blankets, but she wasn't cold. She never would have imagined that Gaston could appreciate something as whimsical as a music box. She thought him so practical. He didn't seem like he would have time for odds and ends that didn't serve a purpose. She was finding out that everything she thought she knew about him was wrong. Maybe she didn't really know him at all. She was equally shocked by how old the music box was. She knew all of her father's designs and that particular one was from three years ago. Has he been in love with me all this time, she wondered. She had never paid any attention to Gaston until a few months ago when he had started badgering her to take a look at his trophies with him. At least, that was how she'd thought of it at the time. Had he been trying to gain her favor before then? She was ashamed to say she didn't know. She'd been too busy reading to give him any thought.


	7. Bittersweet and Strange

Disclaimer: Still not mine.

Summary: Belle, Gaston, and LeFou arrive at the Chateau du Isole, a convalescent home for the insane. Belle wonders if this would be a good place to send her father.

A/N: Thanks so much to my beta, PhantomsAngel1870. I appreciate you!

Chapter 7: Bittersweet and Strange

Over the remainder of their journey, the awkwardness between Belle and Gaston did not go unnoticed by LeFou and it remained despite his best efforts to facilitate easy conversation. He was relieved when Gaston told him to stay behind with the horses while he and Belle toured the facility. As they approached the door Belle thought back on all that had happened and found the steadfastness of Gaston's devotion to her both flattering and unsettling. She spent most of the day reflecting on her own obtuseness for not having noticed it sooner. Gaston did his best to appear composed and friendly when they met the next morning at breakfast, but even he could not entirely hide his misgivings about their encounter the night before.

The Chateau du Isole seemed to loom out from the vast forest that surrounded it, the many turrets and towers like so many branches, some of them gnarled and bent with age. It reminded Belle of something from one of her fairy tales, but she reminded herself that inside it was probably better suited to a gothic horror story. She had never seen the inside of an asylum, but based on the stories she had read she could only assume the inside was cold and inviting. She knew Monsieur Darque, who ran the nearest sanatorium. She was not one for gossip, but she always heard that he was a greedy man, more concerned with lining his pockets than caring for his charges. Most who entered his institution never left and some were never heard of again.

The Chateau had the charm of an era gone by. Belle expected to see liveried servants rather than matrons and orderlies walking the halls. The director, Count du Isole, greeted them as they entered through the large dark oak door. Belle had expected an older gentleman, so she was pleasantly surprised when she saw the count was a young man, apparently in his thirties, with a pleasant countenance and sharp blue eyes. He greeted her with a firm yet gentle handshake and a sad smile.

"Good afternoon. I presume you are Belle and Gaston from Villaneuve? Welcome to the Chateau du Isole. Please call me Adam. I understand that you are thinking of placing your father with us. Is that correct, Mademoiselle?" Belle nodded, blushing. She was not used to discussing her father's condition with strangers. "I don't mean to embarrass you, but I'll know better how we can help him if I understand his symptoms. I am not blindly trying to sell you on this place for profit. We sincerely try to assist all of our patients here and we only admit those who we believe can benefit from our services."

"I understand," Belle said, fighting against the awkwardness she had been conditioned to feel when discussing her father's mental state. "My father suffers from delusions. I started to notice a change in him a couple of years ago. He was always eccentric and rather absentminded, but also kind and gentle. He began to frequently lose his temper. His emotions were out of balance. He would react to things in completely disproportionate ways and soon became unpredictable and sometimes violent. He started to forget small things at first and then larger things nearly bankrupting us before I realized that he could no longer manage the finances.

"When I was a child, I always thought he had a wonderful imagination. He used to tell me stories, better than any fairy tale from a book, but lately he has lost his grip on reality. He thinks the things he imagines are real. Most of the time he believes that we have been locked in an enchanted castle by a horrible monster. He sees everything in frightening detail. He says that all of the castle servants were turned into furniture or other objects so we must always be on our guard. I don't know how to help him anymore. How should I respond when he claims that the silverware is trying to kill us? The worst is when I try to reason with him, when I try to convince him that what he sees is crazy. That's when he can become violent. He gets paranoid and says that I've joined with the evil forces in the castle and that I'm trying to harm him. Please believe me, sir, my father isn't a dangerous man. He'd never hurt anyone if he was himself."

Count Adam nodded and patted Belle's shoulder sympathetically, "That's exactly why he _is_ dangerous, my dear. We know that he's not in his right mind, but be believes absolutely that what he sees is real. It's as real to him as you are. Just as a trusted household pet can become violent when cornered and threatened, your father believes he is reacting to a genuine threat on his person and yours. According to his perception of reality, he's acting appropriately." Belle nodded again. This was all very insightful, but she was not sure how it would help in her father's day-to-day care. It didn't seem to matter what he believed when he wouldn't bathe or eat. "Please, allow me to show you some of the work we do here."

Adam took Gaston and Belle on a tour through the Chateau. Every room had been completely remodeled to suit its new purpose. The bedrooms were still comfortable without retaining anything that could be used by patients to harm themselves or others. The dining and ballrooms had been designed to give the patients safe places to relax. "It might not be as grand as when my parents were alive, but I try to see to it that all of our residents are comfortable here."

"Are most of them permanent residents?" Belle asked with trepidation.

"Some of them are," Adam conceded. "We do everything we can to help those who can recover to do so. You must understand, there are many types of madness. It may not seem so at first, but no two minds are alike. One of my patients tried to drown herself in a fit of despair after her child was born, but the birthing blues are temporary. After some rest and relaxation here, her thinking returned to normal and she was able to care for herself and her child again. Another patient was convinced that he was really a golden retriever. An encounter with one such animal put the notion into perspective and he was able to understand that he was a man. No two cases are alike. I won't be able to say for certain without meeting your father."

"The cases you've described, were they younger people?"

Adam hesitated, "There does seem to be some elasticity of the mind when it is younger. It may bend out of shape and completely warp, but it seems to be able to snap back with the right stimuli. Older minds are more complicated. We don't yet understand why sometimes the mind deteriorates at a different rate than the body, but we do know that in both cases, sometimes the ravages of time cannot be repaired."

"I understand. When you say that sometimes people react to the right stimuli, what does that mean?"

"Don't worry; we don't employ any harmful therapy techniques here. I am well aware of the tendencies of some of my colleagues to treat patients with electroshock therapy, ice baths, etc. The truth is that there is very little evidence that these methods are effective. It is the same with bloodletting. What evidence do we have that bad blood leaves the body faster than good blood? There's still a lot we don't understand about how our minds and bodies work."

Belle was relieved to hear this. Even if they could not do anything to help her father, at least he would not be subjected to cruel experiments in the name of medical progress. "Forgive me, Count, if this seems impertinent, but are you a medical doctor?"

"It's not impertinent in the least. In light of your deliberation about placing your father here, I'd say it's very pertinent. I have no formal medical training. Everything I've learned on the subject has been the result of self-study, but I make it a point to stay current on all the latest research. I read the latest journal articles and am in touch with several very well qualified physicians on a regular basis. I assure you that I take the welfare of my patients seriously and I do not dabble in medicine or see it as a hobby for aristocrats. I see it as a science as well as an art."

"That certainly is reassuring. You said that you don't believe in harmful treatments. What treatments do you employ? What have you had the most success with?"

"In truth, sometimes the least invasive treatments are the most successful. When the patient is able, I try to involve them in talk therapy. Sometimes a traumatic episode in the past drives what can seem like an insane behavior. It makes sense to the patient because they know why they're doing it, but to an outsider it looks like madness. Sometimes once this issue is discovered, the staff here can help the patient deal with it in a more productive way."

Belle considered this, "Could you give me an example?"

"Indeed. A young woman was brought to us several years ago with an intense phobia of water. She refused to bathe. She refused even to drink it. Just bringing a glass of water near her sent her into hysterical fits. Her family was at their wits' end trying to care for her. Eventually, in one of our talk therapy sessions, she disclosed to one of the staff that she had nearly drowned as a child. It had profoundly affected her and the more she tried not to think about it, the more she had thought of nothing else. The fear of drowning consumed her every waking moment. I won't go into the details, but we were able to help her deal with anxiety in a way that was less crippling to her life. I don't know if she'll go on to be completely normal, but she was able to return to her family and take up a more productive role in her household."

"That's wonderful!" Belle exclaimed.

Adam shrugged and smiled his sad smile. "She's only one example. There are many patients that we cannot help. We allow them as much freedom and autonomy as we safely can. Some are allowed free reign of the house and garden, but we do have some violent offenders here as well. Whether they don't understand the difference between right and wrong or simply don't care, there's little we can do except keep them confined. Their comfort must come second to everyone else's safety. I must make that very plain before we proceed any further. You've said that your father can be violent. We are well equipped to handle that kind of behavior, but you must understand that we will take whatever steps are necessary to protect the other patients and my employees from harm. If your father's behavior is dangerous, we will curb it effectively."

Adam offered Belle and Gaston rooms for the night. It was a little disconcerting to spend the night in a madhouse, but she already felt guilty for how much this trip had cost Gaston. He didn't specify how much exactly, but she knew it was must have been a good amount with food and lodgings for three people. They sent word to LeFou, but he preferred to stay at the local inn. Belle couldn't blame him. She settled into her room, which was adjacent to Gaston's, and soon found herself tossing and turning, unable to sleep. She kept thinking over everything she had seen that day. In some ways, the Chateau seemed more like a vacation destination than an asylum. All the rooms were comfortably furnished and Adam had been serious when he said he allowed the inhabitants as much freedom as he could. There were gardens and tennis courts and he organized concerts and poetry readings for those who were interested.

At first, Belle had been afraid that his goodwill had been a sham, but she'd had the opportunity to speak to several of the matrons on duty and all of them remarked on how well they were treated and how they tried to pass that on to their patients. Not all of them had pretty stories. One young woman, no older than Belle herself, told a harrowing account of how a patient had tried to strangle her with his bedsheets. She said she couldn't blame the man, who was clearly disturbed, but that didn't make caring for him any easier. If Belle came to any conclusion that night, it was that there was no right answer. Maybe they could cure her father's madness here, but maybe they couldn't. She realized after the tour how shocking the number of employees at the Chateau was. There was one worker for every two or three patients. She started to think of the attention those people could give her father the next time he had an episode. He wouldn't have to be frightened and alone as he was when she couldn't be with him at home. Even if they couldn't cure him, perhaps they could provide him with superior care just because there were so many of them. When one person got tired of caring for his or her patients, someone else was there to take over right away ensuring that no one was left wanting attention. She didn't think kindness was exactly the right way to describe how the patients were treated. They certainly didn't have all their demands catered to, but they were treated with respect. If it was possible, they were made comfortable. She thought about Gaston pouring Agatha's remedy down an unwilling Maurice's throat and she realized that they weren't doing anything worse here.

The next morning Belle found herself in the Chateau's gardens with Gaston. The patients hadn't been released from their rooms yet, so it was just the two of them. "What do you think of the place?" he asked, not wanting to sound like he was pressuring her, but also not able to bear the suspense.

She thought a while before she answered, "I think that this might be the right place for my father, even if he doesn't realize it. It would be wonderful if they could really help him, but even if they can't restore his mind, they might be able to make him more comfortable. He wouldn't be alone. The matrons would make sure he had enough food to eat and clean clothes to wear. If he gets unmanageable, there are some strong men around to restrain him for his own good. This place can give him more consistency than I can. I know he won't understand where he is, but maybe that doesn't matter. He might be calmer in a place where one person isn't struggling to take care of him all the time."

"It's wonderful to hear you hopeful again," Gaston said, "I hope the decision won't be too difficult for you."

"It's funny. A few years ago I would have thought this was the hardest decision I'd ever make, but I'm so exhausted. I know I can't go on like this. It's not what's best for my father or for me. It's obviously not what's best for you or LeFou, although you've both been very kind. It seems like maybe I put off thinking about it for such a long time because I knew all along what I needed to do. Besides," she added shyly, "I've made some other difficult decisions lately. It's not every day a girl turns down a marriage proposal from the most popular man in town."

Gaston laughed loudly, "I don't think that was a difficult decision at all. You were pretty emphatic that it was the right thing to do."

"I did think that at the time, but I see things differently now. It seems from my perspective like you've changed, but I think I'm probably just learning how wrong I've been. We should probably head back inside. I want to thank the count again for his hospitality before we leave."

Gaston didn't know what to make of that comment. How did she think he'd changed and what exactly had she been wrong about? Was she still talking about her father or was she trying to tell him something else? He shook his head. Women were horribly complicated. That reminded him that they were meeting Giselle that afternoon. He massaged his temples. No one was more complicated than his sister.


	8. I Want You to Want Me

Disclaimer: Disney's.

Summary: Belle meets Giselle.

A/N: I'm finally introducing my OC, Giselle, in this chapter. I didn't write much about her physical appearance, but when I picture her, I think of Caroline from season 2 of Poldark. I have no idea why. A big thank you to my beta, PhantomsAngel1870!

Chapter 8: Giselle

Gaston, Belle, and LeFou met Giselle and Francois at the Prancing Pony after they left the Chateau. It was a typical pub, no better or worse than others Belle had visited. Giselle glanced around distastefully before greeting them all. "Gosh, it's great to see you again," LeFou effused, clasping her hand.

She smiled warmly at him, "It's good to see you as well. We'll never find anyone in Marseille who's as a good of a family friend as you." LeFou blushed and Gaston rolled his eyes. What she said was undoubtedly true, but she was so over the top with her delivery. His sister always was theatrically minded. Their father had often remarked that if she hadn't become a merchant's wife she could have been an actress. Of course, there were plenty of opportunities for pageantry among Marseille's wealthy.

After greeting LeFou, Giselle went to embrace her brother and was obviously pleased to see him. "You're getting thin," she frowned, "I wish you'd let me arrange a housekeeper for you. I'm convinced you don't feed yourself half the time and you must run poor LeFou into the ground doing errands for you."

"I don't mind," LeFou piped in, "Helping each other is what friends do."

Gaston shot him a grateful glance, "It's good to see you, too, Giselle. As I've said before, doing my own cooking and cleaning is a small price to pay for not having another person underfoot. You know how I feel about having a stranger in the house."

"That's why you would get to know the person and she wouldn't be a stranger anymore."

"It's a shame to start off our meeting with an old argument. Why don't we agree to disagree, at least until everyone is introduced?

Giselle pursed her lips, but let the subject drop. She turned to Belle, "It's lovely to see you again, after such a long time. I can see my brother didn't exaggerate. You really have grown into the most beautiful girl in town."

"Thank you, that's very kind." Belle didn't know what else to say. She'd been a little girl when Giselle left Villaneuve. She only vaguely remembered her.

"Tell me, Mademoiselle, what do you think about a man who cooks and cleans for himself?"

The last thing Belle wanted was to get in the middle of a family dispute, but she felt obligated to take Gaston's side. "I think sometimes it's necessary. There must be many men who find themselves in that situation after the death of their mothers or wives."

"But what if a man has the means to employ a housekeeper and simply refuses to do so?"

"That's up to him. Being able to afford servants doesn't mean that someone has to hire them."

"Doesn't it? The Bible tells us to help those who are less fortunate. What could be more helpful than providing gainful employment, particularly for a poor woman? We have so few vocations open to us. If wealthy men ceased to pay for housekeeping services, what would become of French widows?"

Belle didn't know how to respond. She'd never thought that Gaston was obligated to hire someone to cook and clean for him, but she saw Giselle's point. Any one of the widows in town could use that extra income and housekeeping was the only skill many of them possessed. It was their only possibility for employment.

It was Francois who changed the subject, "Please excuse my wife. Being disagreeable is in vogue in Marseille. Whatever you might have said, she would have said the opposite. It's a very trying fad and I hope it passes quickly. I'm very happy to make your acquaintance. I don't believe I've had the pleasure."

Belle let him kiss her hand in a somewhat overblown gesture of civility, "I'm sure you haven't. I was quite young when you two were married, but I remember everyone talking about it. It was very unusual for a woman to leave Villaneuve when she married, wasn't it?"

"That's the kind of thing I mean, my dear. We women must stick together. Men leave the village for apprenticeships all the time. Sometimes they come back and marry local girls and sometimes they don't, but we have no options. No one ever heard of a girl leaving to seek her husband. We just cook and clean and wait for someone to take us off our father's hands. If women looked out for one another, the world would be a much better place."

"Someone's been reading Mary Wollstonecraft again," Gaston said turning to Belle, "Don't let my sister radicalize you in a single meal. She's always had very progressive ideas. It's why our father couldn't wait to get rid of her."

Giselle swatted him on the arm, "That's an outrageous falsehood!" she said with mock outrage, "You know Father cried like a baby on my wedding day."

"They were tears of joy," Gaston said, but he was laughing. Even he could only tease his sister for so long. "Honestly, Francois, I don't know how you deal with her every day."

"I imagine you know how better than anyone. You grew up with her."

The luncheon was a pleasant affair and Gaston's banter with Giselle fascinated Belle. He treated her as intellectual equal and wasted no opportunities to bait her or hold her views up to ridicule. There was something good natured about it though, as if Gaston really shared her views and was only playing devil's advocate. He didn't pull any punches, but that was hardly surprising. He'd never lost a fight. She found that Gaston had been very accurate in his portrayal of Giselle's husband. He seemed amiable, but his own views were limited to the topics of shooting and the weather. Giselle, on the other hand, was fascinating. Her conversation could turn every head in a room. She wasn't a great beauty, but her manners and enthusiasm won her a great many admirers.

"What are your views on marriage, Belle?" Giselle asked as the meal was winding down.

Gaston rolled his eyes, "Is this really the best time to begin a philosophical discussion? We really must be getting on our way."

"A discussion of marriage isn't philosophical at all. It's the institution that shapes our world as far as we women are concerned."

"Yes, and the rest of us know your views on it quite well. Belle's had a long few days and I'm sure she's anxious to get home."

"Oh no, I'm very interested in hearing what she has to say," Belle said. She had so few opportunities to meet intellectual people and discuss new ideas. She didn't want to pass up what might be her last chance for quite some time.

Gaston shot her a look that said, 'Why are you doing this to me?' She pretended not to notice.

"I was wondering," Giselle continued, "what your views are on the subject of matrimony in general and with regards to yourself specifically."

"I suppose I'd like to get married one day, if I find the right man and fall in love."

"Ah, so you're a romantic. So many young girls are these days. I, myself, see marriage as a social contract. A husband and wife agree that their union should be mutually beneficial in as many ways as possible: children, finances, socially, personally, etc. I think a husband and wife should embark on their life together as a team, so friendship and compatibility ought to be the order of the day, rather than a passionate affair of the heart."

"Be careful, my dear," Francois interjected good naturedly, "I have some feelings, you know." No one paid him any attention.

"Do you mean that you think the two things are mutually exclusive?" Belle asked.

"You're very astute, my girl. No, I think they can go hand in hand, but we ought to bear in mind that passion fades, while friendship and mutual respect endures." Belle was speechless. She'd expected Giselle, with all her progressive feminist ideals, to say something to effect of, 'women should follow their hearts without regard for convention.' She certainly hadn't expected her take the view that marriage should be economically and socially beneficial.

Belle had always assumed that one day she'd meet a dashing stranger and they'd fall in love and get married. She'd never put much time or effort into evaluating whether any of the local boys would make her a good partner. It was true that Gaston was the only one who'd ever paid her much attention, but she wondered now what sort of husband he would make over time. It was certainly true that he was handsome and gallant in a chauvinistic way, but he'd shown her these last few weeks that there was so much more to him than that. She knew he would be a devoted family man and father. She also knew that he helped those in need, even if he didn't broadcast the fact. Those were characteristics she would always value. It was true that she didn't always find his conversation exciting, but was that too much to expect? She'd learned over the course of their journey that he had a much larger intellect and vocabulary than he normally chose to employ in conversation and he was educated on a wide range of topics. She had no idea how prices in England would affect the sale of wheat in their village this year, but he apparently stayed abreast of it.

What exactly were his motives for wanting to marry her? She'd thought she understood him perfectly when he proposed. He thought she was pretty and she'd bare him sons. She knew now that was an oversimplification. Were his views on marriage the same as his sister's? Did he think that she would make a good life partner? That she would share his successes and failures and that they would support each other? This trip had lent her some clarity about her situation with her father, but she was more confused than ever about her feelings for Gaston. As the dinner died down Belle volunteered to ready the horses. Normally LeFou took care of it, but he was engaged in an animated discussion with a man at the bar and Belle thought it was the least she could do.

Gaston made sure the dinner was paid for and then helped his sister into her cloak and she laid her hand on his cheek. He was surprised at the intimacy of the gesture and immediately grew still. She hadn't touched his face like that since their mother had died. "I'm worried for you, my sweet boy," she said. "I see why you like her. She has spirit and a good heart. She's obviously devoted to family, but you are not her family. She doesn't seem ready to settle down. Even if she likes you, she may not be content with the simple family life. She seems like she knows her own mind, but what young girl can't be swayed by the passionate pleas of a lover? Don't try too hard to persuade her of this marriage. She may agree in the moment only to wish later she had refused you. I think you should find someone older, with fewer romantic expectations. I want to see you appreciated for everything you can offer: stability, companionship, and a social position. Young women do not fully appreciate how important these things are. They care too much for passion and romance. I don't' expect you to listen to me, but I don't want to see you get hurt."

"You're wrong, Giselle. I do listen, but I cannot always obey."

Giselle's words burned into his mind as they rode. Was she right? If he succeeded in convincing Belle to marry him, would she resent him for it later? He'd always assumed that once he convinced her, that would be the end of it. They'd live happily ever after. What if it didn't work like that? What if he convinced her and then she regretted it? Could he live with that? He knew that Belle was bright and that she could have a future outside of Villanueve. He could, too, but he liked the village. It was duty that brought him home after the war, but it was also his choice. It's not good enough for her to agree to marry me, he realized, I want her to want me. "Don't I deserve the best?" he muttered.


	9. Is This Home?

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Summary: Belle talks more with Adam.

A/N: I want to give a big thank you to TrudiRose and Calebski for their suggestions. You guys have been super helpful. I think I finally have a basic plot outline for the rest of this fic. It looks like it's going to be about 17 chapters, but we'll see how it goes. I also want to thank PhantomsAngel1870 for her lightning quick editing! I really appreciate it 😊

Chapter 9 Is This Home?

Belle tried to control her emotions as she helped her father onto the cart behind Phillipe. "I can't wait to get my latest contraption to the fair," Maurice said, "It's going to win first prize and I'll be world famous."

"I'm sure you will, Papa," she said, smiling tightly as she climbed up beside him. She felt horrible about convincing him that it was time to show his latest music box at the fair, but it was the only way she could think of to get him on the cart. He'd hardly agree to be delivered to a madhouse. She glanced over her shoulder at Gaston, who was standing in her yard. He'd agreed to feed the chickens and keep an eye on the house while she was gone. Things had been different between them since they came back from the Chateau. She'd been much more friendly and he'd been much more aloof. She wondered if she'd done something to offend him. Perhaps her manners hadn't measured up to his sister. She could understand why an important lady from the city wouldn't be impressed with an inventor's daughter, but Giselle hadn't seemed like that type of person.

Belle couldn't begin to guess the real reason for the change in Gaston's behavior. He was still in love with her, but he wanted her love in return before he proposed again. He didn't want her to marry him out of guilt or panic once she realized how hard life was without her father. She was too worried about her father to think more about it as they made their way toward the forest.

She was surprised and grateful that the journey with Maurice remained uneventful. After his last two violent outbursts, he seemed to have calmed down. He still thought they were trapped in a castle, but he'd been more even tempered. When they finally arrived at the Chateau, Belle told him a friend of Gaston's lived there and had invited them to stay on their way to the fair. He didn't question it and went willingly to a room with one of the matrons. "The servants here are certainly very attentive," he told Belle as he was led away. She nodded and struggled to keep her composure, trying not to let tears overwhelm as she watched his back retreat down the hall. She hoped she was doing the right thing.

Count Adam appeared and offered her his handkerchief. She gave him a watery smile. "How are you holding up?" he asked gently.

She shrugged, "As well as can be expected, I suppose. I don't know what I feel. I truly believe this is best for him, but I feel as though I'm giving him away."

"Nothing I can say will make this easier, but he's in good hands and you're always welcome to visit. We reserve some of the rooms for guest accommodations."

"That's very kind of you, but I think visiting might make everything harder, especially if he's not doing well."

"I understand. Please let my staff know if there's anything we can do to make your stay here more comfortable. You'll have a chance to say goodbye him tomorrow."

"Won't he be too busy starting his treatment?"

"Belle, there's a chance your father could be with us for the rest of his life. Forever can spare a minute."

After a long sleepless night, Belle found herself in the garden early the next morning. Adam was there, too. "Good morning, Belle. You're up very early this morning."

"I didn't sleep much last night."

"Forgive me. I realize, of course, that you have other things on your mind, but would you permit me to show you my roses? They're my pride and joy."

Belle thought gardening was a curious hobby for the warden of an insane asylum, but she didn't say so. "They're lovely," she observed.

"They're hardier than they look. Even if I completely neglect them for several years at a time, they always come back lovelier than ever. I think sometimes memories are like that. We may neglect the good ones for years at a time, but when we turn to them again, they're even more beautiful."

Belle smiled, on the verge of tears again. "Thank you. That's a lovely sentiment. I will try to remember my father when he was well. He would want that. Are your parents still living?"

Too late she remembered Gaston mentioning that Adam's father's insanity had inspired him to use the Chateau as a treatment center. His face darkened, but his tone remained friendly, "They've both passed on now and I'm an only child. My father died here at the Chateau. He was quite mad."

"I'm sorry. That must have been terrible."

"It was very hard, but in a way it also gave me a sense of purpose. If he had been an ordinary man, this place would have remained an ordinary chateau. It was his malady that made me determined to better understand insanity and its causes, as much as it's possible for a sane person to do that. I don't want other families to suffer as mine did."

"Was he very difficult?"

"You have to understand, my father was a difficult man before he lost his mind. Anyone who knew him would say that he was vicious and manipulative. He loved to intimidate people. The changes in his personality were so subtle that none of us could be sure exactly when it happened. One minute he was himself and the next he was completely mad, although he remained selfish, cruel, and unkind. The difference was that after he went crazy we could tell people it wasn't his fault."

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that."

"Don't waste your pity on me, my dear. After all, my troubled youth is the reason this place exists. I'm proud to day that we've helped hundreds of patients and their families deal with mental diseases. The Chateau is a good place. It's far better this way than as another cavernous entertaining place for my father's friends. I'll give you a chance to say goodbye to your father now. Afterward, I recommend waiting at least a month before returning to visit him. He needs time to adjust to his new life here and reminders of his old one would only confuse him."

"I understand. You'll take good care of him, won't you? He's all I have."

"He's in the very best hands, and I doubt he's really all you have. What about the young man who accompanied you here last time?"

"Gaston? He's… well, he's a good friend."

"It seemed from the way he looked at you that he would like to be more than that. I'm not making a judgement, simply an observation. Now I must get back to my patients. Madness never sleeps."

"Oh, are a lot of your patients awake all night?"

"Not necessarily. I was making a joke. Apparently, it wasn't a very funny one."

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure I have the best grasp on humor at the moment. It's just that I have to say goodbye to my father."

"Of course, forgive me. That wasn't very sensitive timing."

"Thank you again for all you're doing for Papa."

"Adieu, Mademoiselle. God speed your journey home."

Belle made her way to a large ballroom that had been converted into a recreation space. The tables with cards, board games, and drawing supplies looked slightly out of place in the Baroque decadence, but it served its purpose. She found Maurice engaged in conversation with a pudgy man whose right eye twitched every time he said the word, "I."

"Ah, Belle," Maurice greeted his daughter with a kiss on both cheeks.

She tried to choke back her tears, "Good morning, Papa. How are you feeling today?"

"Never better, never better. I was just informing this gentleman that after we finish our visit here, we're heading to the county fair where my latest music box is going to win first prize. I see you have your cloak. Are you planning on going riding?"

This was the part she had been dreading. "I have to head back home now, but they're going to take good care of you here. It's better this way. You'll have lots of people to talk to and they'll know what to do when you get upset."

"When I get upset? Good heavens, Belle, what have you been telling them?"

"I've only told them the truth, Papa, that you think we've been captured by a beast an imprisoned in an enchanted castle. They can help you here. I can't do it anymore."

"The beast is real! I keep telling you. There's a castle in the forest where it's always winter and the castle is alive. All who lived there were turned into enchanted objects by a magic spell. The beast threatened to kill me when I plucked a rose from his garden to bring back to you. He tried to lock me in his dungeon, but I escaped. He followed me home and now we're both trapped. He wants to keep us both locked in the tower."

"When did you pluck the rose?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I ask you to bring me a rose from the fair every year. When did you pluck a rose from the beast's garden?"

"I was on my way home from the fair. There was a tree blocking the path so I took a shortcut, but it wasn't a shortcut. The forest got darker and colder and I was set upon by wolves. I managed to get inside the castle gate and give them slip. I was about to leave when I saw the roses and thought I'd better pick one for you. That was when the beast revealed himself."

"That doesn't make sense, Papa. If you were on your home from the fair, you would have had a rose for me. You wouldn't have needed to pick another one."

"I did have one for you, but I got separated from my cart by the wolves. I didn't want to come back empty handed. You ask for so little. I just wanted to bring you back something you wanted."

"When did you go to the fair?"

"What do you mean?"

"How long have you and I been prisoners in the beast's castle? How long ago did you go the fair and end up lost in the woods?"

"We've just come from there. These good people were kind enough to take us in. It was snowing. Don't you remember, Belle?"

"No, papa, the last fair was months ago. You didn't go because you were too sick. You haven't been to the fair in over a year and you've been home with me until a few nights ago."

Suddenly Maurice's jaw tightened and his demeanor completely changed. "Who are you? You're not my daughter. Who sent you? You work for the enchantress, don't you? You many look like my daughter, but my Belle wouldn't trick me. This is all a trick. It's all lies!" He startled a group of patients playing rummy by overturning one of the tables laden with cards and dice. "You can't keep me here!" he shouted.

"Papa, please!" Belle tried to go to her father, but a petite mulatto woman held her back.

"It's better if you let us handle this," she said. "This is his home now and he must learn to abide by its rules." Belle collapsed to her knees sobbing as two large men dragged her father kicking and screaming down a long corridor back to his room. The woman put her hands on Belle's shoulders in a comforting gesture. "They won't hurt him. We're trained to subdue them without injury."

Belle looked up and saw that she wore the white uniform of a matron. "Thank you," she said, "I only wanted to say goodbye to him, but I made everything worse. Why did I try to argue with him?"

"Shhh," the woman said, "Don't blame yourself. It's natural to try to talk them out of their delusions. The problem is that it doesn't work and then they get agitated. We never engage them about their fantasies. In some cases, when they see that no one is paying attention, the give up on them and return to reality. It may be the same for your father."

"Is that really possible?"

"Anything is possible. I've witnessed my share of miracles here, not all of them with the patients."

Belle recovered herself and the woman helped her to her feet. "Thank you, Mademoiselle?"

"My name is Plumette. Just Plumette is fine."

"Thank you, Plumette. I hope I'll see you again when I come back to visit my father."


	10. Finding You Can Change

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Summary: Belle and Gaston have the talk.

A/N: Thanks to PhantomsAngel1870 for betaing! You guys have no idea how many run-on sentences you're avoiding by her grace. This chapter is another cliffhanger. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Chapter 10 Finding You Can Change

Belle didn't think she'd ever been happier to see Villanueve. She'd been tempted to ride through the night after her disastrous goodbye to her father, but Phillipe wasn't young anymore and she didn't want to do anything that might hurt him. Nevertheless, by the time she opened her front door, she was exhausted. She'd spent most of the journey keeping a tight grip on her emotions, determined not to cry until she made it home. She fully intended to dissolve into puddle of tears as soon as she was inside, but a large pair of shiny black boots on her kitchen table stopped her.

"What are you doing here, Gaston?" she asked, too tired and frazzled to be polite.

"I'm keeping an eye on the place for you, just like I said I would."

"You certainly made yourself at home."

He hastily removed his feet from the table, "How did everything go with Maurice?"

"It was awful and I just want to be alone. Thank you for everything, but please go now."

"Belle, please, if I've said or done anything to offend you, it was unintentional."

"It's not you. I just can't do this right now."

"Right. I'll show myself out."

It was three days before Belle had the courage to venture out of the house. She was sure that the entire village was talking about her. She had never really felt like she belonged in Villanueve. Her love for books had made an outcast, but she was sure that now she'd be a pariah. She could almost hear their whispers, "What kind of a daughter has her own father committed? I thought Maurice raised her better than that." She could imagine Madame Clothilde gossiping to the schoolmaster that they had been right about her all along. After three days of crying, her eyes were red and puffy and she felt like her tear ducts were empty. Steeling herself for the worst, she picked up her basket and headed to the market.

To her surprise, the villagers greeted her as they always had. The baker asked how she was without waiting for a response. The bookseller said he was happy his best customer was back. Most people looked at her with sympathy, not scorn.

"Good morning, Belle."

Surprised, she turned to see Agatha, "Good morning."

"Did you safely deliver your father to his destination?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Don't blame yourself, my dear. I think it's amazing you kept him at home as long as you did. My remedies were only a temporary solution. No one could have cared for him better than you did."

"I never properly thanked you for everything you did for him," Belle said, belatedly realizing that she hadn't given her fellow villagers much thought, even before her father got sick.

"It was no trouble. Maurice is a kind man and I considered him a friend after a fashion. He never laughed at me and often tossed me a coin if he could spare it. If I were in his shoes, he would have done the same thing for me."

"I can't help feeling like I abandoned him though."

"That's because you're a good daughter. You did all you could and feel like you should have done more. Maurice is lucky to have you."

Belle wept again at that comment. She felt so guilty. She'd never paid Agatha any attention until her father got sick. Even then, their interactions had been perfunctory, but here Agatha was, offering her comfort she didn't deserve. Belle continued on her way, but Agatha called out to her, "Gaston would be lucky to have you, too."

Belle smiled and turned back, "I think you mean I'd be lucky to have him. Just ask any woman in the village."

"Don't be deceived by appearances. True beauty is found within. He may seem like a man who has everything, but his past still haunts him. Soldiers see terrible things. No man comes back from war completely, even the ones who look whole to us."

Something occurred to Belle, "Does Gaston ever come to you for remedies?"

"Sometimes he has trouble sleeping. Whatever his demons are, they come for him at night."

"I see. Thank you for telling me."

Belle made the rest of her purchases at the market without incident and on her way home, Madame Aiguille, the dressmaker, stopped her. "Good morning, Belle. How is your father?"

"He's as well as can be expected. Thank you for asking."

"If you need anything, you be sure and let me know. I know how difficult it is for a woman in this village living without a man."

She'd never even considered how difficult it must be for Madame Aiguille as a widow running her own business. She felt her stomach sink even lower. She really had been a terrible neighbor. She knew she should cook something when she got home, but she didn't feel like it. Instead she sat at the kitchen table, morosely staring around the empty house, thinking about how quiet it was. Eventually she was roused from her reverie by a knock at the door. It was him.

"How are you, Belle?"

"I'm fine. It's been a long week."

"I know it's not the same, but I lost my father, too. If you ever need anything or just want to talk, I hope you know I'm here for you. I wish you had let me come with you, but I understand why you didn't. I know you felt like you were abandoning your father even though the Chateau could give him his best chance for regaining his senses."

"You know me so well, Gaston. I'm flattered, but I feel terrible. I don't think I tried to get to know you at all until recently. You knew all about my father and his music boxes. I barely remember your parents. I'm so sorry that I didn't take more time to get to know my neighbors."

"Never mind that now. We can't change the past. We can only bear it in mind as we move forward."

"That's a lovely sentiment. Is it Moliere?"

"Ha! It's Gaston. You shouldn't be too hard on yourself. You've done more for your father than anyone else would. You take care of the people you care about."

"I've just recently realized that there aren't very many of them."

"It's not too late to change that. Life isn't a book, you know. There's no neat ending where everything is bound up with a bright colored cover. All of us are always in a constant state of becoming. We're always at the novel's rising action, never the denouement."

"You used so many literary terms in that sentence. Exactly how much do you really know about books?"

"More than I'll ever admit. I have a reputation to protect."

"I know your reputation, Gaston, and I used to think I knew you. You've shown me these past few weeks that I only know part of the story. I know that you like to hunt and you enjoy a night at the tavern with your friends. I also know that you help people in need. You were so patient with my father. I don't think any son could have treated him better. Don't worry, I promise to not tell anyone. I just wanted to tell you that I see you, the real you, and I think you're wonderful."

"What about the count?"

"What about him?"

"He's a handsome fellow and the two of you seemed to share certain interests."

"Honestly, I haven't given him much thought. I think the work he does is important and I'm sure we'll cross paths again when I visit my father. Beyond that, I can't imagine we would have much more interaction."

"Have you not given any thought to the kind of future you two could have? You could have a useful life helping a man like that with his work. Don't squander your talents by staying here, Belle. You're so young and full of life. You have so much to give. Don't let yourself waste away in a town where no one appreciates a woman like you. The world is big place. Go live in it."

She was so confused. She knew Gaston had been more aloof since their trip together, but she'd thought he was trying to give her space to come to terms with her father's confinement. He'd confessed his love for her. He'd helped her father without asking for anything in return. She'd thought about their kiss all the way home in between bouts of misery. Why was he trying to steer her away now? "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you should think about the kind of life an educated man could offer you. You speak often of wanting to help people and to make a difference. You could do that somewhere far away from here. You would be wasted as a farmer's wife."

"Gaston, I know that we've had our differences, but I also know that you care for me. I can't believe that you really want me leave Villaneueve and you. As for my preferences, I always thought that I wanted a life full of adventure and excitement, but I didn't have a clear picture of what that meant. I think every day with you would be an adventure. There's enough here to sincerely attach me to my life."

"I've waited to hear you say that for so long, but now I'm not sure. I'm older than you. I've lived my life. I don't want you to sacrifice your dreams to settle down and start a family. I'd be proud to have you for my wife, but I think after a while you'd resent me for it. I just don't deserve you."

"Gaston, I'm speechless. What can I say to change your mind?"

"There's nothing you can say and I can't force you make something of your yourself. It's your life, but even if you stay here and carry on as before, I'm not going to marry you. I don't think we could make each other happy right now. We're in different places in our lives. You were right, in a way. I am looking for a wife to massage my feet while my latest kill roasts on the fire. I want someone who would enjoy settling down and starting a family with me, not feel obligated to do it for my sake. You want to marry me now because you feel I've been kind to you. You think I've gone out of my way and you owe me something in return. You don't owe me anything and I don't want a wife who sees marriage as an obligation. I want someone who sees it as blessing."

"Gaston, please, I know what I said before, but I was wrong about so many things. A person can change."

"I truly believe that. I think that all of us can change if we really intend to, but I also think that it takes time and effort. I don't think someone can change that much that quickly. I'm sorry." He turned to leave.

"Gaston, please don't leave me. I love you!"


	11. Epistles

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

A/N: This is going to be different from previous chapters. I'm trying to develop Belle's relationships with Giselle and Adam, but I wasn't sure how to do that with them not being in the same place. I decided to do it through correspondence. Hopefully it's not confusing. I know this one took a little longer to get out, but I actually have parts of all the chapters written now. Thank you so much to everyone who wrote reviews. I really appreciate you guys taking the time to say something. I particularly want to thank The White Princess, JDLuvaSQEE, MostEvilIceQueen, Calebski, Lord Mortenson, 11morsmordre, Womenreligiousfan, and all my guest reviewers. I have a special thank you for TrudiRose for reminding me that the name of the asylum in the musical is the Maison des Lunes and for loaning me the name of the dressmaker from her fic universe 😊

Chapter 11: Epistles

 _Dear Giselle,_

 _I hope you don't think it impertinent of me to write to you. I wish to share my sincerest gratitude for informing me about the Chateau du Isole. My father appears to be comfortably installed there for the time being. I'd only heard people discuss the Maison des Lunes, and I had no idea that other asylums held themselves to a higher standard of care. I don't know what Papa and I would have done if you hadn't been so good as to tell your brother about its existence. Before my father lost his mind, I thought our life would continue as it always had indefinitely. Now that he has been committed, I find myself at a loss for what to do. You above all people must know how few options there are for a woman in my situation. I have no other living relatives and very few friends. I hope that I am not remiss in considering you one of them. It is on this assumption that I must ask for your assistance once again, although I know it is terribly rude to thank someone for one favor and in the next breath ask them for another. How does one obtain a position as a governess? My father wasn't diligent about my education, but I have always been a great reader. I'm fluent in German and Latin. I play the piano tolerably well. I regret that I do not draw or paint. I'm self-taught, but I believe that I'm well versed on topics such as history, philosophy, mathematics, etc. Could you advise me on how to go about inquiring about a position? I would not wish to offend by approaching a family unsolicited, so I must beg for your help. Do you know of anyone in need of such a person to instruct their children? I'd be very grateful for any assistance or advice you could offer._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Belle_

 _My Dear Belle,_

 _You are certainly not remiss in calling me your friend or in calling on me for assistance. While it would be a grievous impertinence to approach a potential employer without a proper introduction, I do know several families who are currently seeking governesses. I would require a more thorough review of your qualifications before I feel comfortable recommending you to anyone from my social circle, however. While your mastery of Latin and German is impressive, it is not likely you would be hired based on those merits. You would likely be employed to instruct young ladies in the drawing room arts, piano, dancing, conversation, etc. Latin and German would be left to the tutor who would most surely be hired to instruct the young men of the house. I found your company pleasant enough at the Prancing Pony, but I could not speak to your ability to instruct your charges in etiquette. If you do not meet the qualifications for a governess, I may be able to offer assistance in another way. Might I prevail upon you to come and visit Francois and me at your earliest convenience? I could introduce you to society in Marseille. You'd do much better looking for work in a large city where your father's affliction is unknown, even without the help I pledge to give. If a position as a governess is not deemed suitable, Francois and I will endeavor to make other arrangements for your continued employment and independence. You were right to contact me. We women must look after each other. A swift reply is not essential. Take some time to think about the offer and respond when you feel it is appropriate._

 _Yours truly,_

 _Giselle_

 _Dear Sister,_

 _I have broken with Belle and I am in despair. I knew that my time in the sun was over after the war, and that I would never again achieve something worthwhile in my life. Then I noticed Belle and I thought that maybe I had been wrong. I thought I could find a new purpose as a husband and father. For the first time in a long while, I began to hope that the best days of my life were still ahead. Now that I know she is not to be my wife, I am lost. I feel hopeless as my dream dies. The time flies and love is a lost illusion. Without her, no beauty could move me, no goodness improve me, no passion could reach me, no lesson could teach me. I know that long ago I should have seen all the things I could have been, but careless and unthinking I moved onward. I thought she was my chance to redeem myself. If I can't be with her, no pain could be deeper and no life could be cheaper. There's no point anymore. No spirit could win me. There's no hope left within me. If I can't marry her, then let the world be done with me._

 _Your beloved brother,_

 _Gaston._

 _Dearest Gaston,_

 _I am deeply troubled by your last letter. You are a good man and you deserve someone who will make you a good wife. It pains me to see you so dejected. If Belle is as wonderful as you think she is, then she may yet prove herself worthy of you. Until then, I maintain that she is still a child in many ways and is incapable of understanding the value the right husband would add to her happiness. She has written to me and I have invited her to come here and stay. I have agreed to help her search for an occupation. She may come to appreciate in time all you could truly offer her. In the meantime, I urge you not to lost heart. If she never comes to see all you truly are, the she is the one who is lacking, not you. I cannot bear the thought of seeing you chained to someone who is less than your equal. Many marriages have been made based on the wife's youth and charms, only for her husband to find out later that he ought to have sacrificed youth for maturity. Companionship and respect may last forever. Gratitude for helping one's father may not. I do not say that you should give up all association with Belle, only that you should wait until you are sure she values you beyond the assistance you have rendered her before you make her another offer. Give me some time to assess her character. I may be able to offer better guidance about whether she would make you a suitable partner as I get to know her better. Some things truly are best left to the women._

 _Yours Always,_

 _Giselle_

 _Dear Count Adam,_

 _Could you please apprise me of my father's progress? I have refrained from visiting per your instructions, but I would very much like to know how he is faring. Does he miss our home in Villaneuve? Does he miss me? Is he still angry at me for leaving him? A little news, please sir. I would give all that I own to know that he is well."_

 _Sincerely,_

 _Belle_

 _Dear Belle,_

 _I ought to have written to you sooner about your father's condition. I know how anxious you must be about him. Physically, he is very well. He has a good appetite and takes his exercise walking around the gardens when the weather permits. Mentally, I'm afraid he is no better. Do not lose hope. He may improve in time. You may also be interested to know that socially he's faring very well here. Other than the occasional emotional outburst with which you are no doubt intimately familiar, he's become quite a favorite with the staff and the other patients. He employs his fine craftmanship to make any number of baubles or toys for their enjoyment. He's developed close friendships with several of our other patients in similar mental states. They've become such an old boys club that I sometimes feel like I'm running an exclusive retirement community that I'm not yet permitted to join. They're very good natured about me excluding me though. He speaks of you very highly and often. Please do not worry that you have permanently injured his feelings. He is sure that you will visit him at your earliest convenience and can't wait to show you off as his "greatest achievement."_

 _Ordinarily, I don't put much faith the ravings of mad men, but Maurice has indicated on more than one occasion that you and Gaston have a rather antagonistic relationship. I was under the impression that there was an understanding between you. Is this incorrect? Your personal life is none of my business, so feel free to disregard this question if you think it impertinent. I'm simply trying to avoid giving offence in the future. I beg you not to hesitate to reach out to me if there is something sinister in this man's behavior toward you. I am acquainted with his family, but I believe that sometimes it is nature, rather than nurture that shapes our actions and therefore one cannot always be judged based on the good character of their relatives. Please know that you many rely upon me to offer whatever assistance I can regarding your father or any other matter. In any case, I hope that you will not hesitate to write to me again._

 _Yours Truly,_

 _Adam_


	12. Is This Where I Should Learn to be Happy

A/N: Hey everyone! After not updating for a while, here are two chapters in one day. How's that for progress? I have this story mostly mapped out, but there is one thing I'm still not sure about. Should there be an explicit love scene in here somewhere, or does that not have a place in this story? If I write one, should I post it as part of this story and just let everyone know up front it's an M rated chapter, or should I post it separately with an M rating, or should I not post it at all? I'd really appreciate some feedback about this.

Chapter 12: Is This Where I Should Learn to be Happy?

Belle glanced around the guest bedroom at Giselle's home for the nth time. The room was spacious and well furnished. She was sure it reflected in the latest fashions, yet it did not feel like home. _What I'd give to return to the life that I knew lately_ , she thought. The truth was the Marseille was not at all what she had imagined. It was true that there were a dizzying array of cafes, dress shops, theaters, and her personal favorite, libraries. She had prevailed upon Giselle to visit the library several times, although it clearly wasn't her favorite place. They had gone to the theater, the public gardens, the art museum, and several cafes. As Belle listened to the buzz of conversation all around her, she realized it was the same dull provincial talk she'd heard back home. It seemed like all anyone talked about was who was getting married or who was having a baby or who was ill. Was it possible that this was what life was like everywhere? Where were the lofty ideas, the philosophy and history that she thought people would be discussing in a big city? Where was the progress? Everywhere she looked she saw women struggling. Some were beggars, but many more appeared to be nurses, teachers, and servants. None of them were making close to what their male counterparts did and all of them were selected for their docile natures.

Belle learned what it would take to become a governess for a wealthy family and found herself sadly unequal to the task. It seemed that families wanted a girl who was simultaneously penniless and from an impeccably noble family. Belle's education had, despite its peculiarities, prepared her for little other than homemaking. She lacked the more genteel skills required by polite society. Her stiches were far too big, she did not draw or dance, and her accent was far too provincial. Her potential employers worried she might corrupt their children's speech.

Although it was universally greed upon that she wouldn't do as a governess, Giselle made good on her promise to help her seek other employment. Given her good housekeeping skills, inquiries were made about positions in domestic service. After several failed interviews and comments from her potential employers that she, "didn't know her place," Giselle made it very clear that Belle would have to be quiet and respectful if she wanted to work. "It's all well and good to have progressive ideas, my dear, but they don't put food on the table or keep you warm when it's cold out. I admire that you see the world for its possibilities, but you must also see it as it is and learn to adapt. You'll have a lot more luck changing yourself than changing the world."

One day Giselle bustled home with news that one of the bookshops in town was looking for an assistant. Belle changed into her best dress, a pink one with a lace collar that Giselle had insisted on purchasing for her, and hurried to the shop with a letter of reference in hand. Monsieur Dorleac was a kindly looking man in his mid-fifties. He had a receding hairline and spectacles that were constantly on the verge of falling off his nose. He had two main concerns in life: his bookshop, which be believed had the finest selection in Marseilles, and Liam, a large ginger tomcat he had adopted from the alley behind the shop. Belle dearly loved books and she was kind to Liam, so they got along famously from the start.

Sometimes she thought sadly of the house she had shared with Papa and all their happy memories there. It had been with a heavy heart that she had bid the place farewell. The hardest part had been selling Phillipe. She had planned to sell him to Gaston, but she could see how uneasy LeFou was riding Andre. She had offered the horse to him first and he had been overjoyed, promising to look after him for the rest of his days. She probably could have turned a better profit at a county market, but it was more important for her that she find someone who would look after the old horse and not expect him to work too hard.

She had packed up her few dresses and personal belongings into a single trunk and gotten a coach into the city. She boarded up the house, but she doubted anyone would try to break in. There was nothing of value there. The hardest part was saying goodbye to Gaston. It had been awkward and painful. Her chest physically ached, like her heart really was breaking. She had never appreciated him or this place, but now that she was leaving, she would have done _anything_ to stay. _I'd even marry Gaston_ , she thought, but that shipped had sailed. In her memory, all the things that had driven her crazy about him melted away to reveal a handsome prince. The Gaston of her regrets was unfailingly kind, intelligent and witty. It was Belle who was spoiled, selfish, and unkind.

The coach ride to Marseille had been full of sensations for Belle. She had been sad about leaving her childhood home. She had been excited to finally have an adventure. She had been anxious that she wouldn't be able to find work and that once she found it, she wouldn't be good at it. She had been lonely. She had never been so far from home without her father. As she settled into her new life in Marseille, mostly what she felt was tired. She got up and rushed to work in the morning. She rushed to help customers in the bookstore all day. After her shift, she rushed home to help out with any domestic tasks she could get her hands on to show her gratitude. After her first week of work, Belle began to think of looking for another place to live, but even rooms for rent in Marseille were expensive. With a week's salary in hand, she began to think of seeking other lodging, but a single room with shared bathing facility and kitchen access cost more than Belle's entire house in Villaneuve. She was starting to despair of being Giselle's houseguest forever. She'd been very kind, but she couldn't trespass upon her hospitality indefinitely.

Although Giselle tried to appreciate Belle's financial constraints, she had been very firm on where her friend ought not look for lodging. "Especially when a woman lives alone, where she lives says something about her. Location is everything and different neighborhoods say different things. Neighborhoods that say, 'I'm a gentlewoman who has fallen on hard times' are completely acceptable. A neighborhood that says 'I work hard and live cheaply' is less desirable but nevertheless practical. A neighborhood that says 'I'm either a beggar or a whore' is to be avoided. Do you understand, my dear?" Belle nodded, but she didn't really.

While it was certainly a change of pace to live in such a vibrant and colorful city, Belle couldn't help but think that after a while, all the faces started to look the same. They were the faces of strangers. She missed the baker she knew selling his same old bread and rolls. She missed the mothers asking for eggs and the men arguing that something was too expensive. People certainly did those things in Marseille, but they weren't the face she'd grown up with her entire life. Most of all, she felt like something was missing here and that something went tromping around wearing boots and used antlers in all of his decorating. Now that they were apart, Belle could see why the other villagers referred to Gaston as, "roughly the size of a barge." At first, she thought it was just their ignorance talking. Didn't they know how big a barge was? But now she saw that it was his personality they meant, not so much his physical size. Gaston had a fine physique, but he wasn't noticeably larger than other men. She tried to put his physique out of her mind. The more she tried not to think about him, the more she thought about him constantly. She discovered that the things she had initially found the most annoying were actually the most endearing. She missed the way he made fun of her intellect using his. She missed the way he teased LeFou and then dared anyone else to say a word about him. She missed the way he pretended to check his reflection while he observed her in the mirrors at the market, as if she wouldn't notice. As much as she hated to admit it, she was starting to think that he really was much more than the sum of his parts.


	13. Be Our Guest

A/N: KABOOM! Another update! I'm on a roll!

Chapter 13: Be Our Guest

Belle arrived at the Chateau du Isole by coach after a long day and night of riding. She approached the enormous Oak doors with her heart in her stomach and her stomach in her boots. She'd half expected Giselle to make a fuss about her visiting her father, but instead she'd encouraged it.

"The neighbors need never know where you're going," she said, "You should go and see him. It will put your mind at ease." She'd gone through the journey in a state of constant anticipation and fear.

She hoped her father was doing well, but she feared he was not. She raised her hand and knocked three times. "I'd like to see my father, please." Plumette stepped aside to allow Belle entry to the main hall.

The rest of the facility had gone through varying degrees of renovations to suit its new purpose, but the grand entryway remained singularly unchanged. Adam had explained to Belle on her last visit, "It works wonders with the aristocrats who are thinking about placing relatives here. They think the person will feel at home." She was anxious to see if her father was feeling at home. She shivered when she thought about their last meeting. Even though he was out of his mind, raising her father's ire always made Belle feel like a naughty child.

She and Plumette wound their way around labyrinthine corridors until they found themselves in the recreation room. Belle hesitated before opening the door. She must have looked panicked because Plumette said, "Don't worry, my dear. Maurice is in a good mood today. We told him you were coming and he was overjoyed. He's a very proud father."

Belle struggled to contain her emotions as she opened the door.

"Ha ha! I've got you now, you old bastard!" The scene before her was as strange as anything she could recall. Her father sat playing chess with an elderly gentleman wearing a crumpled ivory neck scarf.

"Maurice! Such language!" scolded a matron who was surveying the room with thinly veiled amusement.

"I beg your pardon, Matron. I forgot there were ladies present. I've just outsmarted a particularly vicious attack on my queen."

"Not particularly vicious," said the man with the neck scarf innocently.

"Yes, you only would have slaughtered most of my soldiers if I had let you in. I'm sure you would have spared a few."

"Why do you paint me as such a villain, my old friend?"

"Why do you paint yourself as a such a saint?"

"Papa?" Belle approached her father with some trepidation. She had been hesitant to interrupt his conversation, but she began to worry that his argument could escalate into something violent.

"Ah! Belle!" Maurice clasped his daughter in a tight embrace. "It's wonderful to see you again. How was your journey?"

"It was uneventful. I came by coach."

"You didn't ride Phillipe?"

"I sold him, Papa. It seemed like the practical thing to do, but don't worry. The man who bought him is sure to give him a good home."

"Is the man by any chance named Gaston?" Maurice wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"It's LeFou actually. He's having some trouble riding Gaston's horse when they go out hunting."

"I'm not surprised. Andre was bad tempered even as a foal."

"You remember Andre?"

"Of course. You can't live in a small town for as long as we have without picking up a few things about the other villagers."

"I wish I had picked up more about them. I'm beginning to realize that I never tried very hard to get to know our neighbors. Maybe I wouldn't have been so lonely if I had."

"Ah, so you've gone to seek your fortune in the big city. Is it everything you thought it would be."

"I don't know, Papa. It's certainly big, but it's also crowded and noisy and expensive. I don't think it's for me."

"May I ask what good citizen has taken you in while you look for work?"

"I found a job in a bookstore and I'm staying with Giselle, Gaston's sister."

"Ah, Giselle. She's a very pretty girl if I remember correctly."

"I suppose so. I've never really thought about it. Good looks probably run in the family."

"Their mother was a beautiful woman. I think their father was pretty average."

"What do you remember about their parents? Gaston says his father used to take him to the theater in Paris."

"Well, that's certainly surprising. I remember him fairly well. He was a good-natured sort of fellow. Everyone liked him and they respected him, too. He ran the most prosperous farm in the village, so he must have had a good head on his shoulders. I'm not sure if Gaston inherited any of his good sense."

"Gaston is quite sensible. I think I was wrong about him. I used to think he was rude and conceited, but he's different now."

"Is he different or are you?"

"I don't know, maybe both. I used to think I'd never fit in in Villanueve, but I think if Gaston gave his stamp of approval everyone would think I was wonderful."

"Is that what you want, everyone's approval?"

"I only really care what he thinks. Did I tell you he asked me to marry him?"

"No."

"It was a few months ago. I turned him down. I said I'd never marry him, but now I wish I had said yes. I thought we were too different, but now I think we complement each other. We don't have to have every interest in common to enjoy each other's company."

"That's true. Do you think he'd make you a good husband?"

"I'm more worried about whether I'd make him a good wife. What was his mother like?"

"I'm afraid I didn't know her very well. We'd only been living in Villaneuve for a few years when she passed away, and I hadn't cultivated friendships with many of the married women in town."

"No, I suppose not."

"I thought she was lovely and kind. It's a pity Gaston didn't get to say goodbye to her."

"What do you mean?"

"She died while he was fighting in the war. Her illness came on suddenly and she was gone before they could get word to him."

"How awful for him. No wonder he doesn't like to leave Villaneauve."

"No, I expect he doesn't. He was devastated when she died."

"Thank you for telling me about it. How are they treating you here?"

"Very well, thank you. The food is delicious and the company is tolerable."

"It seems like you have a friend back there."

"That's Jacques. He's a good sport, but a very peculiar fellow. He thinks there are pixies in neck cloth. He never washes it because he's afraid they'll drown."

"That's… interesting."

"I think you mean crazy."

"I was trying to be kind. You always taught me if I didn't have anything good to say I shouldn't say anything at all."

"Did I teach you that?"

"Maybe it was from one of my books."

Maurice was suddenly serious, "What are you going to do about Gaston, Belle? If he loves and you don't love him in return, it's wrong to give him hope where there is none."

"I do love him, Papa, I just haven't known it very long. I don't know what to do. He was so formal when we parted. I thought about asking Giselle to talk to him, but I know she thinks I'm too backward to get married. She told me she wants him to have someone mature."

"I think trying to enlist his sister's aid would be a mistake. We never think anyone is good enough for the ones for we love. You'd better write to him yourself. Tell him how wonderful the city is that he should come and visit."

"But I just told you it isn't wonderful."

"That doesn't matter. You want to see him, don't you? And you don't have any reason to go back to Villaneuve."

"When did you get so crafty?"

"We all must be crafty in love, my dear. We have to do everything we can not to let it slip through our fingers." Belle thought about this as they made their way to the dining hall for dinner.


	14. Belle, You're a Fine Girl

Disclaimer: I don't own _Beauty and the Beast_. Everything belongs to Disney.

Summary: Belle learns some disturbing truths about Adam and Plumette.

A/N: I want to thank my reviewers and my beta, PhantomsAngel1870. I especially want to thank 11morsmordre, SheWolfMedjai, Womenreligiousfan, Escape Through a Dream, and my guest reviewers. I've been listening to the _Guardians of the Galaxy 2_ soundtrack and I realized that Adam reminds me of the sailor from the song Brandy by Looking Glass.

Chapter 14: Belle, You're a Fine Girl

Dinner was a subdued affair of soup and finger food. The inmates weren't given anything sharp enough to inflict real damage. Count Adam sat at the end of a long formal dining table and he dedicated a toast to their visitor. The patients were in various states of rowdiness and matrons had to calm down several of them. Belle was struck by the number of elderly people there. There were at least three people with gray hair for every one with color in it. Her father was younger than some and older than others. Belle kept trying to make eye contact with Adam, but he was on the other end of the table and he seemed to be engaged in a lively conversation with one of the patients she didn't recognize.

After dinner Plumette pulled her aside, "If you're not yet ready to retire, the count would like to invite you to his rooms." Belle nodded, glad to have a chance to speak to him. It would be good to get an update on her father, but she also enjoyed talking to someone who was so well read. Plumette led her to an out of the way part of the castle, "This is the west wing," she said. "It's off limits to the patients and staff. Adam uses it for his personal residence."

When Belle arrived at the count's private rooms, the scene that greeted her was bewildering. Adam sat next to a small table working on what looked like a puzzle with two small dark skinned children. As soon as Belle and Plumette entered the children slipped down from their chairs and ran to her. "Mama!" the little boy cried, "Look what Papa has been helping us with. It's ever so much faster with him helping." The little girl stopped when she saw Belle and shyly stared at her.

"Don't be rude, Madeline," instructed Plumette, "Come and say hello to our guest, Mademoiselle Belle."

Madeline tugged up the edges of her dress and bent her chubby baby legs, "Bonjour, Mademoiselle," she said in a practiced voice.

Still trying to figure out what was happening, but not wanting to appear rude to her hosts, Belle smiled at the little girl encouragingly, "Bonjour, Madeline. How old are you?" Madeline held up three fingers. "Three? My goodness, you're practically a little lady." She turned to the young boy, "And how about you? You must be at least fourteen." She had guessed outrageously high. He was no older than five.

"Nope!" he said, proudly holding up four fingers, "I'm this many."

"Four? Oh, my. I was sure you were a little gentleman."

"I'm Isaac," he said, "Like the scientist with the apple."

"He means Sir Isaac Newton," Adam interjected, "We've been talking about gravity." Belle noticed how he gently laid a hand on each child's shoulder and how comfortable they appeared with him. What was going on here?

"Aren't they a little young for the laws of nature?" asked Belle.

"It's never too early to start learning about science."

"I've been trying to convince him to wait, but it's no use," said Plumette. Belle realized who the children reminded her of. They had Plumette's coloring, but many of Adam's features including his fine aristocratic nose and prominent chin. Belle was at a loss for words.

"Please sit down," Adam pulled out a chair for her at the puzzle table.

"Why don't we go and get ready for bed?" Plumette took Madeline and Isaac by the hand and marched them out of the room.

"I hope I haven't shocked you," said Adam, "But you seem so much more open minded than most people."

"I'm flattered that you saw fit to share your secret with me, but may I ask why it's a secret? Hiding it makes it seem more sensational."

"If everyone were as kind as you, my dear, we wouldn't have to hide. I love my wife and as you may have guessed, my children, but public knowledge of our union would throw the chateau into disrepute. If the wealthy stopped patronizing us, we would no longer be able to operate and then we couldn't help the rich or the poor. As the Chateau du Isole's founder, it is acceptable for me to appear as the consummate bachelor. People think I'm married to my work and in many ways that's true. I live here on the property and am always available in an emergency. What would people say if they knew I was married to a colored woman? Do you think dukes and earls would continue to send their loved ones to my care if they knew how I flouted social convention and married 'below me' as they would see it?"

"I suppose I understand your concerns. Do you charge your wealthy patients an exorbitant sum for treatment here?"

"It's not so much the sum I charge them when they're alive as the money I receive upon their deaths."

"What do you mean?"

"The real money to keep this place going comes from the estates of the wealthy people who die here. As part of their commitment, I ask that I be named their sole heir."

"You inherit from your patients?"

"It's the simplest way to ensure the Chateau gets the funds it requires."

"Do people know that when they bring their friends and family here?"

"After they sign over legal guardianship of the patient to me I'm no longer required to disclose a change in his or her last will and testament."

"You don't see anything wrong with that? What does Plumette think? Is that the reason she's willing to sacrifice a normal married life? For money?"

"Money makes the world go round, my dear, and my wife is a queen among women. She is the most understanding and patient woman I've ever known and I'm not just saying so because she raises my children."

"Do you think that your work at the chateau is more important than your family?"

"My work here is more important than anything. No one else is doing what I'm attempting to do here, Belle. No one else is _curing_ patients. Most asylums are simply warehouses where the doctors wait for the patients to die."

"But you don't cure all of your patients."

"No, but I always try."

"Are you still trying with my father?"

"I am and I will continue to do so. I never give up on my patients here. I firmly believe that where there's life there's hope."

"Thank you very much for the invitation tonight, Adam, but I think I'm ready retire now. It was a long journey and I need to set off early tomorrow."

"How disappointing. I was under the impression you were planning a more extended visit with your father."

"Sadly not. My employer was only willing to spare me for a few days." Belle was shocked to hear the lie escape her lips. She had intended to visit with her father for at least several days, but now she was too disgusted to remain.

"Ah, well, I'm sure you're indispensable as a governess."

"If only that were true. I'm an assistant at a bookshop in Marseilles."

"I'm sure you do good work. You're a fine girl, Belle, and I've no doubt of what a good wife you would be to someone. Am I to understand that someone won't be the gentleman who came with you on your initial visit?"

"Gaston? I really couldn't say. Do you always take such an interest in the personal lives of your patients' relatives?"

"I beg your pardon if I've become too familiar. I was under the impression you and I were friends."

"I was under the impression you were an honest man, but people are not always what they appear to be."

Belle laid awake and stared at the ceiling in her room. She was so disappointed. She didn't know what she had expected exactly, but her conversation with Adam had certainly defied expectation. She wasn't sure if she had ever really been attracted to him or if it was only the idea of him that she found appealing. People kept suggesting that she would be happy with an educated man. It was true she found conversations with people who were well read fascinating, but she wanted more from a husband than good conversation. She couldn't honestly say that she found him handsome. He wasn't unfortunate looking, but hardly anyone's looks could compare to Gaston's. Adam didn't look like he spent much time outside the institution, but Gaston spent hours in physical pursuits and his toned body reflected it, not to mention his perfect bone structure. And his hair. Any woman in Villanueve would give their right hand for his hair.

Belle sat up and sighed, exasperated. Here she was, trying to follow other people's advice instead of doing what she knew in heart was the right thing. She shouldn't be here trying to talk to Adam. She was glad her father was doing better. She needed to see him to set her mind at ease. Now that she knew he was in a good place, she could worry about her own life without feeling too guilty. She was uncomfortable with the way Adam financed the Chateau, but it wasn't really any of her business. If it didn't affect her father's care, she certainly wasn't going to make a fuss that could impact the only comfortable place she had been able to find for him. She also felt sad for Plumette and her children. She was more shocked by the secret of their marriage than by the marriage itself. She didn't approve of Adam pretending to be a bachelor to lure in wealthy patients who might disapprove of his wife, but once more, that was also his private business.

Both Giselle and Gaston had insinuated that of all her acquaintances, Adam might be the most suitable husband for her. Now that she knew he wasn't suitable, she could stop pretending to think of him as a contender. There had never really been any question about who her heart was with. She had known since they parted ways in Villanueve. She had felt empty and miserable and what else could that mean except that she was in love? She only wished she had realized it sooner, now she understood now why Giselle had found her to be such an unsuitable bride. She must have seemed like a young girl who didn't know what she wanted but she knew it now. She was surer than ever that Gaston was the only one who could ever hold the full force of her affection. She threw the covers off the bed and sat down at the small writing table in her room. She had avoided doing this for long enough.


	15. Unexpectedly

Chapter 15: Unexpectedly

 _My dear Gaston,_

 _I hope that it is not too late for me to call you my dear. I write to you now to offer my sincerest apologies for the way I refused your proposal. At the time I thought it was unromantic, but I see now that you only intended to make me see life as it is and not as I want to it be. Life isn't a fairy tale and I've had my nose stuck in books for such a long time that I started to think it could be. I'm sending this letter from the Chateau du Isole, where I now know my father will reside for the rest of his life. Count Adam and his staff have done all they can for him and I'm certain they will continue to do so, but his condition will never improve. Adam believes that sometimes the mind deteriorates with age, even though it was completely healthy, even exceptional, in its youth. He does not believe there is a way to reverse the process. I will not say that I have given up hope, but that my hope has changed direction. I still want my father will live a long and happy life, but I understand now that he must live it here in this institution. He trusts the staff here and has even made friends out of a few of the other patients. Here he is treated with kindness and respect. When his delusions take over, he is contained. He can do no more damage to himself or others. When he is lucid he does not need to feel regretful or ashamed. No one judges his madness here. I believe he has become rather a favorite of some, Adam included._

 _It is upon that subject that I wish to elaborate. I am very grateful to the count for all he has done and will continue to do for my father. While I would never wish for him or his reputation to suffer, I feel I can trust your discretion. Adam is not the man I believed him to be. I do not believe he told me anything false, only that he neglected to share certain information to ensure that I would reach the wrong conclusions. The Chateau is not exactly a charitable institution. He did not lie to me directly about this. It was Giselle who mentioned it and she no doubt was led to the information by someone else. It is true that Adam does not charge the patients who cannot afford care, but he charges his wealthiest patients post mortem. As part of their care, Adam is made their legal guardian, so as not to 'unnecessarily bother their relatives with the parameters of their care.' What this really means is that in their last will and testament these patients disinherit their heirs and declare that everything they own should go to the Chateau. The heirs are too ashamed of having a relation in a madhouse to pursue any kind of legal action. He has profited considerably from these kinds of endeavors and does not consider there to be any kind of wrongdoing. He believes that he has a mission to heal diseased minds and that the ends justify the means. He seems to be a very complicated man, but I do not think he is evil. I do think that he is single-minded in a way that could make him dangerous if challenged. Is obsession not a kind of madness, too? Nevertheless, I still think the work he does is valuable._

 _That said, all the profits he makes are not put back into running the Chateau. You are probably aware that he invested his own fortune into the facility years ago and he could never hope to recoup his losses, but he has been squirrelling away a good deal of money ever since as an inheritance for his children. That's right. The count has children. You may or may not remember one of the matrons named Plumette from your visit here. She's a beautiful mulatto woman with a pleasing countenance. She puts my father at his ease like no one else. It was recently made plain to me that Plumette is secretly the count's wife and their children are his heirs. They may not be eligible to inherit the Chateau as their ancestral property since mixed race marriages are not recognized as legal, but as a "charitable institution" he is free to will it to whomever he pleases upon his death. I do not mean to imply that this designation is intended only for the benefit of his progeny, but it is one more piece in a puzzle. I believe that the count's work benefits others and himself simultaneously._

 _In short, I am no longer sure that men are simply good or evil, but the count didn't teach me that. You did. Good and evil belong to the realm of simple fairy tales. In real life, what is good may also be what is easy and right is not always distinct from wrong. When you proposed, I refused because I believed that you did it for the wrong reasons. I thought that you meant to trick me into marriage by frightening me and I thought this was wrong. I see now that your intent was to frighten me, but not in the way I first thought. You meant to open my eyes to the realities of the spinster life after losing one's father, but you meant it as a kindness. You wanted me to appreciate the life I would be resigning myself to. I was too stubborn and immature to see that you meant to help me make an informed decision, not frighten me into making a wrong one._

 _When we last spoke, you accused me of wanting to marry you out of gratitude. You were partly right. I did, and still do, feel grateful for the service you rendered my father and me. You were there in our hour of greatest need and we can never fully repay you. You sought on more than one occasion to protect me from village gossip, even though my actions sometimes warranted it. I initially thought you were a bully, but I see now that you only meant to censure behavior that would leave me open to even greater ridicule. You were kind, but I mistook your kindness for cruelty, and I sincerely apologize._

 _We now come to my next point and the point of this letter's origin. I know your sister is planning to write to you and ask you to come visit on some pretext or other. My purpose in writing is to inform you that my visit with my father has concluded, so that my presence will not catch you by surprise. I do not mean to imply that I expect anything from you when we meet. It is quite the opposite. If your feelings are still what they were when we last spoke then I will repeat the sentiments that were so distressing for you. I merely want you to be prepared to find me in your sister's house. I believe she intended for my visit with my father to last longer and for the two of us to have possibly not crossed paths at all. In fact, I think she may have it in mind to introduce you to some of her eligible friends. She has not confided in me thus and it is only conjecture on my part. When I first heard of your visit, I was not sure I would find myself back in Marseille. It is now obvious to me that there is nothing I else I can do here to help my father and that I have no other reason to stay. I plan to return to Marseille immediately where I hope we can meet in the company of mutual friends._

 _Yours,_

 _Belle_

 _My Dear Belle,_

 _Thank you for your letter. You are correct that my sister had informed me of your travel arrangements when she invited me to visit. I am most grateful that I will be afforded an opportunity to see you now that your plans have changed. I am glad to hear that Maurice is doing well. I may call upon him on my way to Marseille. While I'm glad you no longer think of me as the villain in your story, I wonder if I shall have any part to play at all now. Am I to play the friendly older brother of an acquaintance? That is a boring role and a poor consolation prize compared to the romantic lead. Am I not a dashing army captain, the hero of every young girl's romantic daydream? I trust you know that I jest. Now in earnest, I must know, have your feelings changed since we last spoke? I understood from your letter than you understand things differently, but what do you feel? There were moments before you left when I thought your heart cried out to mine, but you denied it. Have those sentiments changed? If they have not, then I cannot promise our future interactions will be without strain. I cannot pretend that I will ever feel indifferent to you, but if you wish me to act as if my feelings are less than they are, then I will do my best to obey your wishes._

 _Your Gaston_


	16. You'll Never Marry My Daughter

Disclaimer: I'd like to give a thank you to Elizabeth Rudnick who wrote the novelization of the 2017 movie. It has some added dialogue and I'm shamelessly borrowing lots of it.

A/N: Thank you so much to my reviewers! There are honestly more people reading this than I ever imagined. Special thanks to PhantomsAngel1870 for being my beta!

Chapter 16: You'll Never Marry My Daughter

"Will you sit down and try to control yourself," Gaston hissed at Maurice. He noticed the other inmates and matrons staring at him and he blushed slightly as he sat himself back down on the finely upholstered chair across from Maurice. He knew there was no use shouting at a crazy person, but Maurice was infuriating. On one hand, he felt some real affection for the old man. He'd raised Belle to be the wonderful person she was and Gaston knew that if circumstances were different he could expect a close relationship with him. _Then again, if he was in his right mind, Belle probably would still be ignoring me_ Gaston thought. On the other hand, Maurice had caused Belle a lot of suffering in the past few months and Gaston found that hard to forgive. It didn't matter that Maurice was out of his mind. Anyone who hurt Belle deserved to die a horrible death. Gaston remembered Belle's split lip and black eye before he'd managed to convince her to bring her father here. It was those memories that were making him seriously consider punching Maurice in the face.

Gaston had made a detour on his way to Marseille for the express purpose of asking Maurice's permission for Belle's hand in marriage. He knew Maurice sometimes had lucid moments. Unfortunately, this was not one of them. Judging from the way he was rambling, Gaston doubted there was any chance of getting his approval. Maurice was desperately trying to convince him that Belle had been kidnapped by a beast and was locked away in an enchanted castle. It didn't matter that she'd visited him only a few weeks before. Time lost all meaning in his delusions. Gaston pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. Maurice's ravings were giving him a headache. He tried to take deep breaths and stay calm, but he was at his breaking point. He'd ridden all day and wasn't in the best mindset to deal with a crazy man.

"Maurice, enough is enough," Gaston said, turning to look at the older man. As much as he wanted his approval, he couldn't just go along with his delusions. That wouldn't help him realize what was real. The older man's white hair was disheveled and his eyes were whipping back and forth desperately. "I'm done playing this game of yours," Gaston snapped, "I'm going to see Belle."

"The Beast took her!" Maurice said again.

Gaston's eyes narrowed. He was trying very hard not to lose his temper, but the old man was making it difficult. "There are no such things as beasts, or talking teacups, or… whatever." As he spoke, his voice grew louder and his hands began to clench and unclench at his sides, "but there are wolves, frostbite, and starvation. These are all the things Belle will have to worry about if she becomes a spinster. I'm trying to save her from that." Gaston felt his face getting red. He needed to calm down. He took a deep breath and said in a steadier voice, "Why don't we just settle down and talk about what's been happening in Villeneuve since you left? Doesn't that sound nice? I'm sure Belle is sitting down to a nice dinner with my sister right now."

"You think I've made all this up?" Maurice asked, seemingly unaware of how close Gaston was to breaking. "If you didn't believe me, why did you offer to help?"

When Maurice said he needed help, Gaston thought he meant with a puzzle or a chess game or something. "Because I want to marry your daughter!" Gaston shouted, glad the charade was finally over. He'd spend the past half hour listening to Maurice's ramblings about how they needed to find Belle and get her out of the castle. He couldn't take it anymore. If Maurice was in his right mind, Belle never would have left. She might still be pretending he didn't exist, but he could live with that. At least when she was ignoring him, he knew that she was safe and he got to see her every day. It was Maurice's fault they had been parted. Gaston was glad he to have assisted Belle when she needed it, but afterward he couldn't help but feel angry and resentful toward Crazy Old Maurice, as the townspeople called him. If he hadn't alienated his daughter, then she never would have left. Gaston hated him for that. He sighed, defeated. A crazy person had gotten the better of him. Some captain in the army he was. "Please, forgive me. That's no way to talk to my future father-in-law, is it?

"I'm telling you she's with the"-

"If you say beast one more time, I'm going to feed you to the wolves."

"Now that I've seen your true face, you'll never marry my daughter."

It was at this point that things truly went to hell. Until then, Maurice had been limited to crazy talk. He ranted and raved about the beast. He paced back and forth like an anxious father. At that moment, he leapt up onto the settee and started to shout, "You tried to kill me! You left me for the wolves!"

Gaston sighed. It was his own fault really. What had he expected? Did he think that Maurice would welcome him with open arms as the son he never had? Even before he had lost him mind that was hardly a likely scenario. Gaston supposed that some small part of him hoped that the old Maurice, the real Maurice, was still buried somewhere deep under the surface. He knew it was silly, but he knew her father's approval meant a lot to Belle and he had intended to get it before he proposed to her again. Gaston had imagined it the whole way here. He would speak to Maurice and assure him of how much love and respect he had for his daughter and what a good provider he would be. The inventor would put his arm around him and say that he knew Gaston was worthy and that he gave the marriage his blessing.

He knew it was silly, but he wanted someone to tell him that this marriage was more than a fantasy. Even his best friend thought that he and Belle were wrong for each other. His sister was willing to take Belle into her home just to get her away from him. He wished his parents were here. They had been good people with sound judgement. They would have known whether he and Belle were as alike as he thought under the surface or if he was only fooling himself. Gaston felt a stab of grief for his own father as he met Maurice's crazed gaze. There was never a day when he didn't think about him. As hard as that was, he preferred it to how Belle must feel. She'd lost her father, too, even though he was right here.

He looked up at Maurice with pity, "Wolves? What are you talking about?"

"The wolves near the beast's castle," Maurice was shouting now, gazing around the room in what was clearly a manic state.

"That's right," Gaston said condescendingly, "There's a beast with a castle that somehow none of us have ever seen?"

Maurice hesitated. Looking around the room, he saw that everyone was waiting for his answer, "Well… yes," he finally said.

"It's one thing to rave about your delusions. It's another to accuse me of murder." This was not going well. Gaston felt like he could reasonably extrapolate that if Maurice thought he was trying to kill him, there was little chance of getting his consent. He had come such a long way and he was so tired. He was tired of pretending his life was perfect. He was tired of pretending he was a hero. Mostly, he was tired of the nightmares that plagued so often he was terrified to go to sleep. He tried one last time to direct the conversation back to Belle, "Why would I try to kill the father of the only woman I've ever loved?"

"Love you say? How can you say you love her when you won't help me to rescue her? The beast has her locked in the dungeon and you won't help me!" Maurice jumped and down on the settee hysterically.

Gaston lowered his eyes. This was getting him nowhere. He had wasted his time coming here. "Maurice, it pains me to say this," he said sincerely, "but you've become a danger to yourself and others. You need help, sir. It's good that you're here, in a place to heal your troubled mind. I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but everything is going to be all right."

He turned and fled the room, leaving the matrons to subdue Maurice. Gaston clenched his jaw and swallowed hard against the tears that threatened to overwhelm him. Soon he would be weeping like a madman himself. In his own way, he loved Maurice. He had assumed he would be a daily visitor to their house after he and Belle were married. He thought perhaps the eccentric inventor would move in with them as his health declined, but he knew now that would never happen. Maurice would never leave this place. He would never see Gaston as the son-in-law he wanted to be. He would never stand in as the surrogate father Gaston longed for. He had known for some time that this was a possibility. He couldn't say why knowing it for certain was such a blow, but he felt such despair in this place. It was like he could hear the anguished cries of all those who were left here, never to return to the loved ones they left behind. Perhaps it was because at times Gaston felt himself so close to madness. Between the nightmares and the insomnia, there were days when he barely functioned. The persona he put on for the town was really a mask that hid a broken man. One of the reasons he spent so much time hunting away was because he didn't have to pretend when he was alone.

Gaston closed the door to his guest room, sunk down to the floor, drew his knees up to chest, and cried. He cried for the life Maurice would never have again. He cried for Belle who wouldn't have her father at her wedding. He cried for himself and the lonely, desperate, tired man he really was.


	17. I'll Borrow This One

A/N: Here's another update! I want to thank Kreeblim Sabs, Calebski, SheWolfMedjai, Womenreligiousfan, TinySlippers, Escape Through a Dream, JDLuvaSQEE, and PhantomsAngel1870 for their continued support. This is one is for you guys!

Chapter 17: I'll Borrow This One

Belle was considering if part of her next paycheck would be best served by investing in a pair of comfortable men's shoes, when the shiniest pair of boots she'd ever seen walked through the door. She'd spent the morning contemplating how her feet always hurt after work and her shoes were much less elaborate than what most women wore. She didn't understand it. She'd been paying attention to people's feet all day and women's shoes were all about fashion, where men's seemed to be about comfort and functionality. Who decided uncomfortable shoes looked better? She was scrutinizing the boots so intently that it was several moments before she glanced up at the owner.

"Bonjour, Monsieur," said the visitor to Monsieur Dorleac, "I'm looking for a book and I was wondering if you might be able to help me?" Belle nearly fell off the ladder where she was dusting the top shelves. She knew that voice. She spent her days pretending she heard it.

"Of course, Sir. What did you have in mind?"

"It's a present for a very special girl. It needs to have far off places, daring swordfights, magic spells, and a prince in disguise." Belle felt her heart start to race. She tried to catch her breath and felt the color rising in her cheeks. Did he know she was here? He had to know. What were the odds that he walked into this bookstore by accident? Surely if he really wanted a book he would have gotten it in Villenueve.

"That shouldn't be too difficult. Would you like something with pictures?"

"That won't be necessary. She uses her imagination." Why was he buying a fairy tale? Was he really buying something or was he only here looking for her? She couldn't stand it. She jumped down from the ladder and came around the shelves to where he was standing. She wanted to throw her arms around him.

"You are the wildest most beautiful thing I've ever seen." It came out of her mouth before she had time to think about it. Gaston abruptly stopped talking and Belle felt herself turn scarlet. She had said that out loud. She was going to turn and run away, when a pair of arms caught her up in a tight embrace. There were tears in her eyes and it was hard to think clearly when he was holding her so close. He smelled like the wind and the woods and home. Gaston picked her up and swung her around as if she weighed nothing at all. She was laughing and crying and she never wanted to let him go.

Monsieur Dorleac cleared his throat to remind them of his presence, but he wore an amused smile on his face. "Belle, perhaps it's time for your lunch break."

"I already took my lunch break."

"I don't think that one counted, do you?"

"No, Monsieur. Thank you." It was three in the afternoon and she'd eaten hours before, but she was glad to work for such an understanding man. "Let's go to the park," she pulled Gaston out of the shop by the hand. Once they reached the street she punched him in the arm, hard. "Why didn't you write and tell me you were coming?"

"I yield! I yield! I thought about it, but then I decided I could come and tell you myself faster than the post would reach you. Don't be angry with me. I wanted to come and see you before my sister can run anymore of her interference."

"She's been very good to me."

"She's a good person. I don't mean to imply otherwise, but sometimes she thinks she knows people better than they know themselves."

"Maybe she does."

"Maybe she doesn't."

"She knows you very well."

"She's known me all my life. That doesn't count. How well does she know you?"

"I'm not sure I know myself lately. Things I always took for granted as truth have turned out to be false and now I don't know what I believe. I'm not the same girl who lived in Villenueve."

"I can see. That girl wouldn't have been caught dead in that ruffled pink monstrosity."

"Giselle says I should look professional."

"You look like a professional peacock."

"Don't be absurd. Peacocks aren't pink."

"What are you doing here, Belle? You don't want to be a shopkeeper, do you?"

"No. I never want to work in a shop again. Customers are horrible. I never imagined people could be so rude."

"It's a big city. They're rude to everyone, but they go out of their way to act superior to 'the help.'"

"When can we go home?"

"A little presumptuous, aren't you?"

"Am I? Isn't that why you came here? That whole story about buying a book with all my favorite things in it was just made up to get my attention."

"Even if my intention was to ride in here on the metaphorical white horse, I still think it's bad form for you not to wait to be asked."

"Alright, I'm waiting." She looped her arm through his and they walked the rest of the way to the park in companionable silence.

They made almost an entire lap around verdant shrubberies before he asked, "Why did you write to me, Belle? What changed your mind?"

"It sounds silly when I say it out loud, but I've been miserable since I got here. I have everything I said I wanted. I live in a big city and I hate it. Giselle introduced me to her fashionable friends and I don't care for them. I have a job I should like, but I don't. I miss everything about Villenueve, but mostly I miss you. I thought you drove me crazy. I thought my life would be peaceful without you in it. I never realized it would be boring. Life with you is an adventure, Gaston, a real one, not something from a book. If we were married, we could go on walks together and you could tell me your hunting stories over dinner and we could go to the tavern sometimes and everyone would be happy to see us. I'd give anything to have that life with you. I was such a stupid little girl for not seeing what you offered when you proposed to me. I know that Giselle thinks I don't deserve you, but I'll spend the rest of my life trying to if you still want me."

"I think that's the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me."

"Mostly women just flutter their eyelashes and swoon in your direction."

"I know my masculinity can be overwhelming. It's admirable that you can control yourself."

"See? You're driving me crazy again! Why don't you say things like when other people are around? You have intelligent thoughts. You can make smart jokes."

"Not everyone appreciates them the way you do, Belle. As the town hero, I don't want anyone to think I'm trying to make them feel stupid."

"Well, Town Hero, I'm feeling stupid. You still haven't asked me."

"What if I want to make you suffer? I pursued you for months. You've only been here a few weeks."

"Gaston, I know that's what I deserve, but I am begging you not to make me wait that long. All I want is for us to go home so we can be married by Pere Robert in the little church in front of everyone we've known for our entire lives."

"I thought maybe you'd changed your mind after seeing the big city and you'd want some fancy shindig here. I'm sure Giselle would make the arrangements."

"Please, no. She's built a wonderful life for herself here, but it's not for me. I just want the two of us to go home."

"Say it again."

"I want the two of us to go home."

"No, the P word."

"Please?"

"That's the one. Say, 'Gaston, please take me home!'"

"You are insufferable."

"I know. Do you know about Giselle's big party tonight?"

"I wish I didn't. It's all she talks about. Sorry. That sounded ungrateful."

"No, it sounded like someone who's been living a lifestyle she's not comfortable with."

"That's an understatement."

"Are you sure you're ready to go back to country life, Belle? It can never offer a fraction of the diversions you have here."

"That's just it. They're not really that diverting."

"They're not, are they? And don't worry about my sister. She really is a good person. She wants me to be happy."

"That's what worries me. Will I make you happy in the long term? I know that part of the reason Giselle invited me here was to get me away from you. She never said I shouldn't write to you, but I think she preferred that I didn't. She thinks that I don't appreciate how wonderful you are, but I do now. I was so busy waiting for my prince charming to come along that when you did I didn't even notice. I know I've been stupid, but I promise it's not a permanent condition."

Gaston was suddenly serious, "Speaking of conditions, I stopped by to see your father."

"What? Why?"

"I wanted to ask his permission before I asked yours. I was trying to be respectful."

"Oh, Gaston, what happened?"

"He accused me of having him locked up in the asylum so I could pressure you into marrying me. Oh, and he thinks I tried to murder him in the woods."

"I'm so sorry. Sometimes he can be perfectly rational and others it's like all of his reason has fled. I think it was very touching that you went to see him. If he were himself he would have appreciated it. I know I do."

"That's all that matters then. Did something happen between you and Count Adam?"

Belle recoiled, "What makes you think that?"

"It was just something in the way he asked about you. It seemed like his interest was more than casual."

"It's not what you think. He doesn't want me to repeat what I found out about how he runs the chateau."

"Was anything that you found out illegal?"

"I don't think so, immoral maybe, but who am I to judge? If the chateau really does good work and helps patients, then who am I to decide if the way Adam gets his funds is acceptable? The patients' families can bring it up if it's a problem."

"I'm sorry, did you just say that some decisions should be up to someone's family because they're none of your business?"

"Yes, and I don't intend to say it again. I know I was stupid before to think that I knew how to take care of people better than their families."

"You were never stupid. You were naïve. They're not the same thing."

"They feel the same in hindsight."

"No, you only think they do because you've never done anything really stupid. Once, when we were about twelve, LeFou and I broke into the schoolmaster's chicken coup and stole some eggs. We did it just because we could and because we hated him. That's stupid."

"Point taken. If you get angry at me, am I going to wake up to find that you've made off with all of our animal byproducts?"

"I don't think they sell byproducts at the market in Villenueve. They only sell things like eggs and milk. You know, normal words in someone's vocabulary."

"Why am I anxious to go home with you again?"

"Because of my rugged good looks and boyish charm?"

"And your humility."


	18. Tale As Old As Time

A/N: Thanks to all my readers! If you're enjoying this story, please write me a review. They really are the best form of compensation.

Chapter 18: Tale As Old As Time

Belle fiddled with her long yellow gloves. She had never worn anything so elaborate and she felt false, like she was pretending to be someone else. She didn't belong in this world of glamorous women and fashionable men. She longed for the simple village dances in Villenueve. She wasn't a wonderful dancer, but the evenings were always good fun. She couldn't remember if Gaston had ever danced with her. If he had, it hadn't made much of an impression.

Deciding that she couldn't prolong her entrance into Giselle's party any longer, she took a deep breath and made her way into the ballroom. Giselle and Francois's house was large enough to be fashionable without being intimidating. It was a popular place for small social gatherings, but they generally left the large entertaining to their more distinguished friends. This was an exception. Giselle said that she wanted to change up the type of parties she normally hosted, but Belle had the feeling that she really wanted to show Gaston off to some of the eligible ladies in Marseille.

Belle didn't mind exactly. It wasn't as if Gaston needed Giselle to show him off. He turned heads in every social situtation. He was handsome, polite, and had a reasonable income. She didn't matter if the eligible ladies had a look at him. They were welcome to look, but he was hers and as soon as they returned to Villenueve, they would make it official. She had come too far and suffered too much to let him go. Belle didn't think of herself as special, but she did think she deserved to be happy. The best way to make that happen would be to become Madame Gaston. She thought back to the nights she had spent crying herself to sleep after a difficult day with her father and how she imagined a handsome suitor would arrive and save her. If only she had known he was already there, a few blocks away, waiting to offer any help she needed.

Shaking her head to rid it of unwanted thoughts, Belle opened the door to the parlor and was accosted by the noise of many conversations. Someone was playing a soft melody on the piano and a few people were listening. Most people were standing around in groups of three or four and talking about the usual subjects: births, deaths, marriages, and the weather. Conversations stopped as she walked by. She hoped she wasn't overdressed. She felt silly. Giselle had insisted she wear something "appropriate" for the party, but she felt like she stood out in her yellow gown. Layers of fabric over a hooped skirt made it appear to billow out around her small frame. She was sure that people thought she looked absurd until one young man she didn't recognize kissed her hand and asked her if she wanted to dance. She didn't, but she agreed. It was better than making conversation.

Gaston stared at his reflection in the mirror and barely recognized the old man looking back at him. He certainly wasn't the sixteen-year-old who'd saved Villenueve from the Portuguese anymore. He had a day's stubble on his chin and his hair had some gray in it. There were fine lines around the eyes and mouth. Giselle said they made him look more distinguished, but he knew they really just made him look older. For the millionth time that day he thought about how tired he was and the unlikely prospect of sleep tonight. Seeing Belle again had given him new energy, but now it was fading fast. Seeing her was more than energizing. It was intoxicating. When she smiled he felt like he could die happy and no one could say he had wasted his life. He didn't care that her father hadn't given his approval. He would have her for his wife and there was no mistake about it. Although he desperately wanted to make her a good husband, he had his doubts about whether he could. With a sigh, he made his way down to the parlor to at least day hello to everyone. Maybe he could say he was tired from the trip and wouldn't have to stay too long.

As soon as Gaston entered the room, hushed whispers started about the handsome stranger. He made a dashing figure in his red captain's uniform and shiny black boots. Despite what Gaston himself thought, everyone else saw the picture of youthful exuberance. Belle glanced at him from across the room and blushed when he met her gaze. He really did look handsome and she felt like the ugly duckling, overdressed and overstuffed. She was sure she looked ridiculous. What had she been thinking when she'd let Giselle talk her into this?

Suddenly Gaston was there and he was offering her his arm. Not thinking about what it meant, she took it and suddenly they were in the ballroom dancing a slow waltz. Belle had never been much for dancing, but maybe she had just never been very enthusiastic about her choice of partner. She couldn't stop thinking about how handsome he looked. "You look beautiful," she said before she could stop herself. His laugh echoed around the room over the din of hushed conversations.

"I believe that's supposed to be my line."

"I'm serious. I never really appreciated what a dashing figure you cut in your uniform until tonight."

"Why thank you, Belle. I'm not sure you've ever complimented me on my appearance before."

"Don't let it go to your head," she snapped, but then said more gently, "Why didn't you bring someone home from the war, Gaston? There must have been women fighting over you everywhere you went. Why didn't you marry one of them?"

"I suppose it's because at the time, my parents were still alive and my sister was still at home. I didn't want to do anything that would permanently change our household. It was perfect the way it was. Nothing lasts forever, Belle. Perhaps if I had brought someone back I could have saved myself from years of loneliness."

"I heard about what happened with your mother. I'm sorry."

"You would have been too young to remember her. Maybe it's a blessing in a way that you don't remember your mother. You don't remember the pain of losing her."

"My father never spoke about her much. I think it was too hard for him, but the music boxes he made were a homage to her. The tune they play was her favorite. She used to play it on the piano."

"The music boxes were a way for him to preserve a moment in time with her. That makes sense."

"I think she would have liked you, but it's hard to tell. When you're this close I feel like my world is spinning out of control and if I close my eyes I might wake up in someone else's life."

"Do you want to stop spinning?"

"No, I don't ever want to stop. I don't ever want to open my eyes and go back to the dull colorless life I had before. I don't want to wake up and find out that I'm only plain Belle after all, and that no one as dashing as you could be interested in me. I'm even more afraid that one day you'll wake up and realize it. I'm only a simple farm girl."

"You may be a farm girl, but nothing about you is simple. You said earlier that I was the wildest most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. Normally I don't think twice about the compliments women pay me, but what did you mean?"

"I meant that you came barreling into my heart and my life at a time when I'd stopped believing in fairy tales. That day I met you in the woods and told you about my father, I had abandoned all hope. I knew I couldn't control him, but I had resigned myself to my fate. I thought it would only be a matter of time before he killed me, and then dealing with him would be someone else's problem. And then there you were. Like a knight in shining armor you came in and helped me. You found somewhere I could take him. You found someone for me to stay with in Marseille. It's only through your connections that my life continued at all and at first I was angry at you for that. I don't like feeling indebted to anyone, but you never asked me for anything in return. After suffering alone for such a long time, the idea that someone could come into my life and change things without even being asked was crazy. It was like finding something wild and beautiful in the woods and before you could hunt it, it came over and offered itself to you without a fight."

"Hmmm…. Something wild and beautiful in the woods. Belle, did you just call me a unicorn?"

Her laugh rang out clear and unexpected. "I believe I did."


	19. Beauty and the Beast

Chapter 19: Beauty and the Beast

The night after Giselle's party Belle tossed and turned. Her feet were swollen and her face hurt from smiling. Part of the time she had been smiling to be polite, but mostly she was just happy things were finally going well with Gaston. She hardly saw him all evening. Giselle spent most of the night introducing him to her friends, several of whom were sophisticated widows who had no doubt been invited for the express purpose of meeting him. Belle didn't mind. He was here. They were breathing the same air and soon they would be together forever. She'd learned her lesson from Giselle. She would focus on all the things Gaston was and she wouldn't lament the things he wasn't. He was a good man and a country gentleman in his own way. She might not be a proper lady when they married, but she would be a prosperous farmer's wife and have all the status that conveyed. They were better together than they were apart and it was a comfort to her. She knew that her father would approve if he could understand.

She flipped the pillow over again and sighed audibly. Her mind was too awake to sleep even though her body was tired. She thought she heard a noise. She sat still and listened. There it was again. It sounded like someone was crying. She got up and tiptoed down the hall toward the noise. She wasn't in the habit of creeping around Giselle's house in the middle of the night, but she was almost sure the sound was coming from Gaston's room. She opened the door and saw him wrestling with some invisible phantom.

"Gaston! What's wrong?" Gaston sat bolt upright in bed, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. Belle was sitting on the edge of his bed in her nightgown looking concerned.

"What is it? What's happened?"

"It's nothing. You had a nightmare. I came because I heard you yelling. I didn't want you to wake any of the servants."

"Oh yes, God forbid we might wake up the servants."

"I only meant that they have to be awake in a few hours anyway. Why trouble them when there's nothing they can do to help you?"

"How do you know there's nothing they can do? What has Giselle been telling you?"

"I spoke to Agatha before I left. I know about your nightmares."

"Oh. I hadn't thought Agatha was the kiss and tell type."

"I'm sure she isn't, if you actually kiss her."

"Fair enough. Did she tell you anything else?"

"Just that you have trouble sleeping sometimes, from bad memories from the war."

"It's not just what I saw you know. It's what I did."

"All men do terrible things in war."

"Do we? I'm not sure. I killed you men, younger than you. Some of them were schoolboys who'd never held a gun. How many mothers and fathers buried their sons because of me?"

"Don't do this to yourself. You did what you had to do. You're a good man."

"I'll always be that man, don't you see? Can you live with a murderer in your bed?"

"Gaston, don't say that. You were a soldier. You were fighting for your country. Other men from Villenueve fought in the war. Do you think they're monsters? Is LeFou a monster?"

"Forgive me for saying so, but LeFou killed far fewer people than I did."

"Does that matter? Is one life less important than ten? He did his duty, the same as you did."

"I was a captain. Killing people was my job. Do you have any idea what it's like to make plans and lead your men to kill other men?"

"Of course not, but you could tell me. You could make me understand."

"I can never make you understand! You're still here because you don't understand. If you did you would get as far away from me as you could. I'm not a man, Belle. I'm worse than a beast. Beasts don't kill each other for made up lines on a map. They do it for survival, to protect their offspring or their food source. We do it because the king pays us his schilling and buys us a pretty red coat. That's why we kill other men. At the end of a war there's no glory, only blood that you can never wash off your hands."

"Out, out damned spot?"

"What?"

"Never mind. It was a silly reference."

"I know it's Shakespeare, I just don't see how it applies to this situation. I've seen MacBeth."

"Then you know it was Lady MacBeth who was really the villain."

"I don't know about that. MacBeth still had a choice to make, didn't he? In the end, she didn't kill anyone. He could have said no."

"No, he couldn't have. She was the woman he loved."

"You did."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You said no to me when I wanted to marry you to stay in Villenueve."

"Oh, Belle, it's not the same. I was trying to save you from a lifetime of this. You spent enough time taking care of your father in his condition. The last thing you need is a husband who has night terrors and thinks he's back at the front. Haven't you had your fill of insanity?"

"No one does adventure like a crazy person."

"Does this look like an adventure to you? Does it look like a good time? Sometimes even when I wake up, I still think I'm on the battlefield. I thought that maybe with you by my side, I could control it. I thought that maybe if I felt content with my life, it wouldn't be as bad. Clearly, I was wrong. What if I hurt you, Belle? It would be so much worse than Maurice. I'm so much stronger than him. You wouldn't stand a chance against me, even if it was only a moment of madness."

"I don't truly believe you'd ever hurt me."

"That's what frightens me. You don't know enough to be frightened."

"I know a lot more than you think. I know what it's like to lose my father. I know what it's like to fall in love. I know what it's like to have my heart broken. I know what it's like to have my whole world crumble around me and then rise from the ashes when you show up on a white horse, even though Andre is really grey. I'm not a little girl anymore, Gaston. I've seen enough of the world and its cruelties to know what kind of a place it is, and I've seen enough of you to know what kind of a man you are. Are still too proud to let me help you?"

"It's not pride, damn it. It's concern for your welfare. You don't know what I'm like sometimes. One night before Giselle got married, she came into my room while I was having a nightmare. All I remember is waking up with my hands around her throat. I could have killed her. She had bruises in the shape of fingerprints on her neck for days afterward. I'm dangerous. I don't want to make what your father said the truth."

"What do you mean?"

"Your father said you were being held captive by a terrifying beast. Don't let me be that beast for you, Belle. Let me be a man and keep my dignity."

"Letting someone help you would take away your dignity?"

"I don't want your help. I don't need a nurse."

"I don't want to be your nurse. I want to be your wife!"

"Do you mean that?"

"Of course I mean it! I thought that was why you came, but then I thought maybe you really came to see your sister."

"We both know that's not very likely."

"But you're still in love with me?"

"I've been in love with you since I learned how to love again. I was lost after the war. Life had no meaning. All my glory days were behind me. Then there you were one day and I had a purpose again. My purpose was to make you love me."

"I don't think it works like that. You can't make someone love you."

"No, but you can show them how great you are so they'll be helpless to resist once they realize it."

"In that case, well done."

"Oh, Belle, don't be angry with me. My heart is as broken as yours. I came here because I can't bear to be away from you. I would have suffered in silence, but then you wrote to me and I couldn't stay away. I want you more than anything, but I can't subject you to a lifetime of this. I love you, but I don't think we're good for each other."

"I can't believe this is happening. It feels like you're throwing my own words back in my face."

"Maybe if you were older, I wouldn't feel so bad about snatching your youth away from you."

"You wouldn't be snatching anything and a life with you would be full of adventure. You have nightmares and trouble sleeping. So what? We'll spend our days together. We'll figure out a way to handle the nights. Our life together would be joyful. If my father was right, and you were the beast, you'd let me break the spell by loving you.

"Before the last petal falls?"

"Ah, he told you about the enchanted rose, too?"

"Indeed, I thought it was a very interesting idea. I didn't mention that the rose he showed me had merely been pressed between the pages of a book."

"It's a pity he can't tell the difference between fiction and reality. It would make a wonderful fairy tale if he wrote it down."

"I agree. There never was a tale of more woe, than that of Belle and her father, Oh!"

"You've seen Romeo and Juliet, too? I hate how much you've gone to the theater. I've never even been once."

"My first order of business as your husband would be to take you to theater as much as you like."

"Do you mean that?"

"Certainly. It's a very enjoyable way to spend the evening."

"That's not the part I care about. Say the first part again."

"My first order of business as your husband?"

"Does this mean Gaston finally admits to losing an argument?"

"This time, I admit defeat with pleasure."

"Should I wait for you to officially ask me again or was that it? Because if that was it I have to go and write to my father right away."

"Will you marry me, Belle, and make all my dreams come true?"

"Of course I will! Now I have to go write to my father!"

"Why don't we tell him in person? We can stop by on our way back to Villenueve."

"I want to invite the whole village. Everyone we know can come. They'll be so surprised. They won't believe it otherwise."

"Oh yes they will. No one says no to Gaston indefinitely."

"Tell me, was this your longest hunt?"

"It was certainly the most arduous and I expect it will prove the most delicious."

"That was almost romantic."

"See, I really am a prince in disguise."

"Prince of the tavern maybe."

"And are we going to live happily ever after, princess?"

"Of course, my dear, of course."


	20. His Little Wife

A/N: I want to thank everyone who took this journey with me. I never thought I would find myself writing a Belle/Gaston pairing, but once I got started I couldn't stop. Thank you so much to all the people who have written me reviews and to everyone who's taken a look at this story. I especially want to thank PhantomsAngel1870, whose enthusiasm for this story was a wonderful surprise.

Chapter 20: His Little Wife

Gaston nervously pulled down the sleeve of his red waistcoat as he stood at the head of the church. He was broader than he had been in his teens and his old war uniform didn't fit the same way it had. He had offered to get a new suit made for the occasion. He wanted Belle to feel proud standing next to him on their wedding day, but she had insisted on the red coat. "You wooed me in that coat," she said. "I want to look back and picture you in it at our wedding." He still couldn't believe it was really happening. After all the false starts and all the setbacks, he and Belle were finally getting married.

Giselle had tried unsuccessfully to convince Belle to order her wedding dress while she was still in Marseille. Belle was adamant that her yellow dress from the ball would do. "What would I do with another fancy dress?" she argued. "It will only hang in my closet next to this one and I'll never wear either of them again." Then she said more softly, "Besides, I'm quite fond of this one. It's the nicest dress I've ever owned and I'll be proud to wear it on my wedding day. Who says a wedding dress has to be white anyway? It's only been in fashion since the English queen wore white at her wedding. I don't care one bit what they say in England. After all, this is France, and I'm going to wear whatever color suits me."

"An admirable display of patriotism," said Giselle, "But I still wish you'd let me buy you something. Shopping with you is such a bore."

"And you'll have to find a new pet to bore you after I'm gone."

"Nonsense! You were never a pet. You were more like the sister I never had."

"An embarrassingly ill-mannered sister who was never dressed appropriately."

"Exactly."

"But you and Francois will be there on the big day?"

"I'm not sure, my dear. My physician doesn't recommend travel in my condition."

"In your condition? Oh, Giselle! That's wonderful news! When are you due?"

"In about five months. I can hardly believe it myself. We've been married for over five years. I'd almost given up hope of children."

"You should never lose hope. I felt like my life was over when my father got sick and look at me now. I've never been so happy."

"Do you mean that, my dear? I love my brother, but he can be difficult to live with."

"So can I. I think we're well suited. I don't know why I didn't see it sooner."

"Well, maybe there's something there that wasn't there before."

"That's exactly what I think! I'm a different woman than I was when he first asked to court me. That was before my father deteriorated. I remember it like it just happened. I'd just had another run-in with some villagers over something or other. Villenueve isn't very progressively minded, you know. It's funny. I don't remember any of the particulars leading up to it, but I remember our conversation exactly. After he told everyone giving me trouble to go home, Gaston said, 'I was pretty great back there, wasn't I? It was like being back in command during the war.'

I remember rolling my eyes and thinking, here we go. 'That was twenty years ago, Gaston.'

'Sad, I know. Belle, I'm sure you think I have it all, but there's something I'm missing.'

'I can't imagine.'

'A wife. You're not really living until you see yourself reflected in someone else's eyes.'

'And you can see yourself in mine?'

'We're both fighters.'

'All I wanted was to help a child.'

'The only children you should concern yourself with are your own.'

'I'm not ready to have children.'

'Maybe you haven't met the right man.'

'It's a small village. I've met them all.'

'Maybe you should take a second look.'

'I have.'

'Maybe you should take a third look. Some of us have changed.'

'We could never make each other happy. No one can change that much.'

'Belle, do you know what happens to spinsters in our village after their fathers die? They beg for change in the street, like poor Agatha. This is our world. It doesn't get any better.'

And that's how our first conversation ended. After I realized what a wonderful man your brother really is, he threw those same words back in my face. I remember wishing I could bite my tongue off."

"Unbelievable!" said Giselle. "I can't believe he ever won you over after that kind of a beginning. What was he thinking?"

"He certainly had his work cut out for him after that, but he was right in a way. In hindsight, I think it was less about trying to frighten me into marrying him and more about trying to tell me what a cruel place the world could really be. He was trying to make me see that life isn't a fairytale and waiting around for a prince who would never come meant that I would end up alone."

"And now you feel like you've found your prince?"

"Now I feel like I'll be happier with a farmer."

"Good girl. It's better not to set your expectations too high."

Gaston cleared his throat nervously as the music began to play. He had a recurring nightmare where Belle stood him up at the altar and it was doing nothing to help his insomnia. If the circles under his eyes were a bit deeper from lack of sleep, the lines around his mouth and eyes were deeper, too, from smiling more. He had smiled and laughed more in the week since he and Belle announced their engagement than any other time he could remember. He didn't even mind spending time with Giselle. Usually he found a few hours in sister's company irksome, but she seemed to genuinely happy for him and Belle had so thoroughly won her over that even her company was pleasing.

Belle appeared at the back of the church and his heart stopped. She looked stunning in her yellow ballgown with her hair done halfway up on the back of her head. Her yellow gloves and necklace complimented the dress perfectly. He should have known that she wouldn't wear white. She was never one to follow fads. He half expected her to insist on getting married in her favorite blue frock. He hoped he didn't disappoint her in his red army uniform. Although there were times he missed the man he was twenty years ago, he knew that the man he was today could truly make her a good husband.

At the start of the music, Belle made her way down the aisle alone. With her father unable to give her away, she had decided that she would do the honors unaccompanied. She might have asked Pere Robert, but he was performing the ceremony and there was no one else she was really close to. She smiled as she passed Count Adam and Plumette in the pews. She didn't feel particularly close to them either, but she wanted them to be able to go somewhere together without having to hide their relationship. Plumette gave her a wide grin as she walked by and she knew that her true motives were appreciated. Belle felt her cheeks grow warm as she approached the front of the church. It was nice to see the familiar face of Pere Robert smiling down at her.

Belle wasn't the type of girl who'd been planning her wedding since she was a child. She hadn't thought about it at all until very recently and mostly at Giselle's prodding. Even as a little girl, she had figured she would be just as married regardless of what the ceremony looked like. She was happy with her choice and she couldn't help, but feel a sense of pride that Gaston couldn't seem to take his eyes off her as Pere Robert read the vows. Gaston even had the decency to try to put his army days behind him with a new waistcoat, but she had insisted on his red captain's uniform. The army was such a big part of who he was. She didn't want him to give up part of himself to be with her, just like he wasn't asking her to give up her past to be with him. She had felt a twinge of regret that Maurice wasn't there when she started walking down the aisle, but she didn't think she could bear it if he caused a scene. Most days she took her father's madness in stride. It was part of her reality, so her feelings about it had little consequence. On her wedding day, she allowed herself a little self-pity and a little denial. She needn't think about it today. It would keep until tomorrow. She took a deep steadying breath and reminded herself that even though he wasn't here, she would always be the inventor's daughter and from this day forward, she would be the farmer's wife, too.


End file.
